


the remedy of bears and brambles

by ceylontea



Series: changelings, churches, and charcoal [1]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Faerie AU, Fluff and Angst, Folklore, Forbidden Love, Found Family, Minor Keyleth/Vax'ildan (Critical Role), Minor Kima/Allura Vysoren, Minor Scanlan Shorthalt/Pike Trickfoot, Minor Shaun Gilmore/Vax'ildan, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Star-crossed, folklore AU, not like sexed up mating faeries, or rather people on opposing sides to lovers, spooky dangerous mischief making folklore faeries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:08:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 51,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23236714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceylontea/pseuds/ceylontea
Summary: a story set in the village of whitestone, where twins are treated with natural suspicion, and these ones might actually be changelings. where the local lords were slaughtered by the fey, and their only living child is lost to his grief. where two troubled souls meet and, despite all their differences, they recognise something in one another...this AU muddles together a whole bunch of european folklore regarding faeries and forests and superstitions. a reworking of the story of percy and vex in a world where they're supposed to be at odds.
Relationships: Percival "Percy" Fredrickstein Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III & Keyleth, Percival "Percy" Fredrickstein Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III/Vex'ahlia, Vax'ildan & Vex'ahlia (Critical Role)
Series: changelings, churches, and charcoal [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1758034
Comments: 72
Kudos: 115





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> buckle in for another long fic, this time focused on percy and vex, but with fun tie-ins for the rest of vox machina. it kind of came to fruition after i discovered old notebooks from my childhood obsession with fey and other folklore. of course, i take huge liberties with the actual historic beliefs, for the sake of artistic license and all that.
> 
> i look forward to your comments and responses! enjoy!!

**Map of Whitestone village (for full size image, click[here](https://66.media.tumblr.com/a87290a6d8bd72aac327cb81f741b573/dd1a672f0268fb96-57/s2048x3072/470321a39d4b50c53392510d6ae90ac3983c91f7.png)):**

****

**Full moon, two weeks before Highsummer, two hours past midnight.**

The world was still. Silver moonlight traced the blurry edges of thatched roofs. Clouds hung, ominous and heavy, on the edge of the horizon. Tree branches whispered in a stirring breeze.

A figure emerged from the darkest part of the forest limits, his shadow stretching over the field ahead, like a grasping hand, in the direction of the village. He stepped past scattered effigies set up in his path, sparing no attention for them. He wove between the sleeping cattle. He climbed over the fence, nimble as night-time itself.

The house ahead was small. Its eaves were wonky. Its door was simple pine.

The faerie ignored the main entrance. He turned to the back of the building, where the windows were open in the summer air, beckoning the breeze inside. Its cool presence was welcome, after all. But he was not. He could deduce that from the many forms of protection made to hold him off: twists of garlic dangling from the window frame, a line of salt, turned crystalline in the lunar glow, and a small wooden figure in the centre of the sill, hollowed out, candle burning fierce light from within.

There were more tokens than usual, which confirmed what he already knew; two babies had been born in this household.

Humans knew how the magic of twins would tempt the fey. A few generations back, they would have killed one of the babies, to ensure the safety of the rest of the family. Now, such practises were recognised as barbaric, and they relied on their ritual magics instead.

But the faerie leapt neatly over the tokens, as if they were meaningless, buoyed by a stronger magic in the air. The taste of arcana was on his tongue, like smoke and fresh rain, intensified by the power of the full moon overhead. Nothing could hold him back tonight.

The room he entered was small and cramped, the bed occupied by a single sleeping figure. He flashed a hand toward her, sending a spell to keep her from waking, and he waited for the enchantment to settle, always more cautious than the other fey. His long, pointed ears flicked, like an animal, as he listened to her even breath. Once he was certain, he stepped up to the bed.

She had the babies with her, one on either side, hemmed in by pillows. His own breath caught, excited, in his throat. They were twins indeed.

He reached up and swung off his cloak. Swaddled and kept close, his own babies had been prepared for the exchange, their features mellowed and muddied by magic, until they looked as mortal as the creatures they would grow up alongside. He unwrapped his son first. The boy was fast asleep and curled up small. It was easy to feel distant from him now, with his ears blunt, and his skin matte, and his little heartbeat slowed and stately.

The faerie laid him gently on the bed beside the human boy. He looked at them, side by side. There were differences in their features, of course. The swap would be easy enough to spot. But that didn’t matter. It was much better for the new mother to fear the changelings. Without attachments, they would return more easily to the world of the fey when they were older.

The faerie snatched up the human boy and tucked it into the empty sling before moving on to the second child.

He was elated that someone in the village had given birth to twins. Such creatures held a special magic in their balanced souls and made brilliant sacrifices to the Elders of Arcana. When his partner had given birth to twins, he had hoped, with all his heart, that he might turn them both into changelings. And sure enough, this village woman and her offspring had given him the chance. A pity that he must ruin their lives to thank them…

As he unfolded his daughter, he was surprised to find her wide awake, for she hadn’t been grizzling. No sense of unease showed on her features. Dark, observant eyes blinked up at the shadowed room. He quickly laid her on the bed, and took her human counterpart away, tucking it into the second sling.

He drew his cloak back around his shoulders, hiding his prizes. He looked at his children again.

“I will see you in the future,” he whispered.

His son continued to slumber. His daughter fixed her gaze on his face. Those eyes were sure to get her in trouble in the human village. They were deep and dark, sharp and curious, and spoke of things _beyond_ the mortal realm. Their allure seeped through all the magic that had been put in place to dull her faerie features.

She was too young to understand what was happening, of course, so perhaps it was just his guilty heart, but he thought he read something that gaze. Resentment. Accusation.

He fought back the urge to apologise. He didn’t owe her that—didn’t owe her anything more than the life he’d already given her. This was simply the way things were done. The Elders of Arcana needed human sacrifices, and the forces of magic demanded proper balance for those sacrifices to be taken. So the fey created changelings. A child for a child. As simple as that.

“Farewell,” he said, and any flame of regret was stamped to embers by the time the word passed his lips.

Then Syldor turned and slipped out of the window.


	2. mourning and meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaand here goes chapter two

**Exactly Twenty-one years later | Waxing Half-Moon, two weeks before Highsummer, three hours past dawn.**

In the summer sun, the village rooftops looked like spun gold—messy twists of thatched hay turned to priceless treasure. The sky was bright and blue and entirely cloudless. The rustling forest sang an undefinable song.

Percy lay in bed and absorbed it all. His window offered a wonderful view, between crooked orchard trees, down to the sleepy settlement below. He often wondered if his host had given him the room on purpose, so that every pretty sight in the world could greet him in the morning, reminding him of better things. As though that could chase away the dreams that lingered, like stagnant water pooling at the base of his skull, rising slowly to drown him.

He was still for a long time. But, at last, other sensations started breaking through the foggy haze that separated the world of dreams from the world of the living. Sunlight was baking him under his quilt and the smells of breakfast were rising through the house. He could even hear soft singing. The lilting voice was far from perfect, yet somehow all the more charming for its strained notes and cheerful, stuttering tempo.

“Keyleth?” he called, swinging out of bed.

“I’m in the kitchen,” she replied.

So Percy shoved his glasses on his nose and stumbled off to find her.

The local medicine woman was crouched over the hearth, stirring a pot of oats and milk, fresh from the cow that morning. Her unbound hair poured over her shoulders like a river of fire, tangled with a few stray twigs. She must have woken long before dawn.

Sometimes, she remined him of his sister, Cassandra, in her thoughtful silences and introspection. His heart ached whenever he noticed.

“Morning,” he said.

“Good morning!” Keyleth spun to look at him. “How are you feeling?”

He considered the question, mind turning over slow, while he sat down on the steps behind her. The house was of humble design. Its kitchen was built in a lean-to, with wooden planks leading down to a dirt floor.

“Less shitty than yesterday,” he admitted.

Her eyes lit up.

“How wonderful!” she said. “Are you hungry?”

“Yes.”

“And do you feel like a trip to the village today?” she asked.

She presented him the option every morning, though he always turned her down, recoiling from the idea of seeing people. As far as he was concerned, Whitestone village could only be filled with staring eyes, pity, and awkward condolences.

Yet something felt different today. Promises and potential were hanging in the air. An itch to do something.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll come.”

He saw shock flicker over Keyleth’s face—innocent, unfiltered honesty. Then she broke into a smile.

“That’s so great!” she said. “Here, eat something first!”

She spooned out a bowl of hot porridge and pressed it into his hands, then added a generous swirl of honey, and sweet pears, sliced neatly, from a nearby jar.

“I just need to prepare a few remedies before we leave,” she continued, “so I can make my deliveries. You don’t mind waiting for me? You could have a bath, of course. Or gather up some coin, if you want to buy anything.”

“I’ll do that.”

“And we’ll leave in fifteen minutes.”

“Sounds good,” he said.

But by the time they actually departed, his every nerve had come alight.

On shaky feet, he followed Keyleth down the hill. He tried to focus on the sway of her covered basket, on the lush greenery of the orchard, on the trickle of the stream they crossed. But his eyes kept darting to the space on the horizon, where once, smoke had filled the sky. He kept expecting to see it again. He kept remembering _…_

_His family dead behind him. His youngest sister an unknown quantity, with an arrow in her back, painting the snow crimson. The sense that the fey were all around, a few steps behind him, scattered through the woods in front, irremovable and inevitable._

_Himself, covered in blood and ash, with tattered sleeves, bitter tears clinging to his lashes, running as fast as he possibly could. Hard enough that the soles of his feet were screaming, the straining of his muscles so painful it was almost cathartic, like he needed physical agony to distract him from the raw feeling his chest._

_He thundered down the road toward Whitestone village._

_He had visited it so rarely, and always from a distance, in a carriage with his siblings, or seated on a raised platform for a festival feast. But he still knew the way. His mind was built with maps and scholarship and heritage._

_He was gasping by the time be broke through the last line of trees. In front of him lay a pretty little church, with a group of villagers gathered outside, exchanging hurried whispers. He screamed for help; heads turned toward him._

_“P-Percival?” called the priest, taking a moment to recognise him. “Gods above, he’s alive!”_

_They ran to meet him. But he couldn’t move anymore; the sense of dull relief and despair was so intense. He let his legs give out. Collapsed to the ground. Numbly, he wondered if they had any water. He could drink it. He could pour it on his clothes until the red stains went away._

_People crowded around, asking questions, saying things he couldn’t decipher._

_“Fey,” he choked out. “Too many. My family…”_

_His vision blurred with tears. Horror rippled through the crowd._

_“You were right, Father Wilhand,” someone told the priest. “You were right.”_

_And Percy saw where their eyes turned, toward the horizon. His own followed. He saw the smoke, choking the sky. He knew where it was coming from. His home. Lost to him forever. When he slipped into unconsciousness, it was the last thing printed on his eyelids._

“Are you okay?” Keyleth whispered.

Percy, jerked from his memories, realised he had frozen in the middle of the path.

“I’m okay,” he said quickly. “I was… remembering.”

“Do you need to stop walking?”

“I’m fine.”

“How’s your breathing?”

He looked into her kind eyes. She had been there, that night, pupils blown wide, part of the sickening patchwork of worried faces.

He tried to inhale. Couldn’t do it.

“Sit down for a moment,” Keyleth said.

Percy did as he was told. He felt stupid, bent over in the grass, so close to his destination. But more memories were crawling through him now, unwelcome.

_Waking to an unfamiliar room in a cottage, quilt heavy and smothering on his aching chest. Darkness, pouring over every corner, filling his blurry vision._

_A silhouette in the window._

**_Percival._ ** _The dark voice called him by name. **Let me in.**_

_Percy sat up in bed, staring. Voice shaking when he responded._

_“What are you?”_

**_I am a friend. Or, rather, I can be, if you allow me to help. I can bring revenge upon the ones who killed your family._ **

_“Upon…”_

**_Upon the heads of the fey. Don’t you hate them, Percival? Don’t you want to destroy them? There are ways._ **

_Percy stood up. He felt unsteady. Like this was a dream._

_He found a line of salt along the windowsill, as well as a candle, made from a twist of beeswax. The owner of this house must have set it up to protect him._

_He looked up at the silhouette. It had no solid shape. A shadow in the night. Formless._

**_Let me in._ **

_Percy, as if in a trance, slid a finger through the salt, making a neat break. Then he bent down and blew out the candle._

_The smoke billowed upward—more than there should have been. It brushed over the edges of the shadow, and swelled, until shades of black seemed to overlap each other, as dense and dark as malice. Until the figure was made of smoke, rather than shadow, one step closer to corporeal form._

**_A wise decision,_ ** _it said. **Give me your name.**_

_Percy knew he shouldn’t do that. Yet the creature had already called him Percival. It knew enough. And his survival instinct was crooked right now. He surrendered the rest._

_“Lord Percival Fredrickstein von Musel Klossowski de Rolo the third.”_

_A pleased hum in response._

**_Tell me, Percival, will you accept the forbidden knowledge?_ **

_“I want to,” he said. “But—”_

**_You must have no doubt. You must swear yourself into my debt._ **

_Something pulled at Percy. A bitter seed of hatred. A sense of what magic could cost and who held its power._

_“But aren’t you fey yourself?” he accused._

_The creature was rather still. Though the wind continued to blow, its smoky form stayed solid. Unmoving. For just a moment._

**_I am a sort of faerie,_ ** _it answered at last. **Otherwise I would not know the secret ways. But I am not loyal to the courts. I wish to guide your path instead.**_

_Percy had heard enough tales and enough read books. He knew the rules as well as anyone; never welcome a faerie into your home; never give a faerie your name; never make a deal with a faerie._

_And yet…_

_He cared very little for what happened to him now. But he wanted revenge. Something messier and darker than justice. Havoc wrought through the world of the fey. Slaughter. Annihilation._

_He thought of their pointed ears and vicious smiles and the way they played with mortal lives like humankind meant nothing._

_It didn’t feel like a choice._

_“I will. I swear myself to you.”_

_He caught a glimpse of a smile twisting the smoke where the creature’s head should be._

_Then, darkness flooded his vision. Then, sleep took him once more._

_When he climbed out of bed in the morning, the salt line was intact, and the candle was still burning. Rather confused, he stumbled through the cottage, and met Keyleth, properly, for the first time. She told him he’d slept for sixteen hours. She made no mention of hearing voices in the night._

_So, the whole thing must have been a dream._

Percy’s mind trailed out of the memory. His head was resting on his knees. Keyleth was guiding him through a breathing exercise. Gradually, he managed to bring himself in line with it. His lungs stopped screaming.

Something on his chest seemed to lift away.

“Thank you,” he muttered.

“Feeling better?”

“It’s under control.” He looked up at her. “You’re good at your job.”

She laughed.

“I’m serious,” he said. And the urge came over him, suddenly, to express his thanks. “You took me in because its your duty to care for the people of Whitestone, but you let me stay because of _your_ compassion. Because of who _you_ are. I- I am grateful.”

Her face softened.

“Well, thank you, Percy,” she said. “Shall we go?”

And they walked on, in a tender silence that softened the uncertainties of their blooming friendship.

…

Vex ran a hand through Trinket’s fur, soft and thick and endless. Her feet moved slowly through damp grass, dew catching on the toes of her boots. Her head was clouded with melancholy.

She felt something snag against her fingers. A burr, all wound up in fluff. She teased the fur away gently, murmuring soothing words. Her companion turned his head back. Against her fingers came the small bump of a damp, black nose.

“Just taking care of this,” she told him.

He exhaled again.

“Oh, I see,” she said. “It’s not about the burr. Are you worried about me?”

He blinked.

“I’m okay. Really. This is a day like any other. I don’t know why I feel so… heavy.”

Trinket licked her fingers. She stroked his head.

“Don’t worry,” she whispered. “Just wait here for a bit. I’ll be back soon.”

She never let Trinket follow her into the graveyard. Though the other villagers were used to him by now, he still intimidated them. And she refused to bring unease to the fragile peace of their mourning. Even if she really wished he could be by her side.

She glanced back and saw him settling down to wait, curling beneath a tree. It reminded her of the day she brought him home.

_A storm that shook acorns from branches. Vex, fourteen years old and newly orphaned, roaming the forest with her bow and arrow, hunting a meal for her brother, who was at home, desperately ill._

_The fear in her shaking hands. The fierce determination in the set of her jaw._

_She had wandered east of the village, away from the most bountiful hunting grounds, nearer to the edge of the Faerie Forest. She knew there were other hunters out that day—people who treated her with suspicion and pity—and she didn’t want to run into any of them. As far as she was concerned, keeping her brother alive was her own responsibility._

_She crouched beside a low-hanging rock in a mossy bank, ears twitching as she listened out for the thump of rabbit feet. Her senses were all finely tuned. Beyond human._

_She heard it at last, in a crunch of leaves. She turned toward her prey and drew back the arrow waiting loose against her bow. When she found the right point of tension, she let it fly._

_She caught the rabbit in the eye. A perfect shot._

_“There we go,” she whispered, scooping up her dinner. “I’m getting better at this.”_

_And she smiled._

_It had been almost a year since her mother died, and she’d been learning to hunt ever since, sharing the burdens of adulthood with her twin brother. Vex went to find food in the forest. Vax focused on civilisation. Either he filched things from the neighbours who could afford to lose a little (who wouldn’t even notice it was gone) or he followed merchants to nearby towns and stole things from the rich folks there._

_But now Vax was confined to his bed, trembling with fever. And it was getting late. She should be heading home with her small bounty…_

_She heard something. A far-off cry, distinct from the hollow sound of the wind. Pitiful and weak and desperate._

_She turned on her heel._

_There was a clearing up ahead, where she knew traps were often set, but the other hunters hadn’t come far enough to check on them that day. Vex was alone, surrounded only by trees tossed in the wind, and scattered leaves rising along the ground like ghosts._

_On approach, she could see that one trap had been sprung. A sort of mesh cage, snapped over something small._

_A bear cub._

_He was shivering already, letting out plaintive cries, pawing at the ground and peering out. There were scraps of food littered around him—the bait that had drawn him in._

_Their eyes met._

_She saw something she recognised. Hunger. Loneliness. Fear. A sense of need so poignant it actually hurt._

_But she had to be cautious. She searched the area for signs of a mother, knowing how protective bears could be. She kept light on her feet, ready to spring into a tree and make for the highest branches. But after several minutes of thorough examination, she saw no signs of a larger creature._

_She came right up to the cage. The cub howled hopelessly at her. His ribs were showing. More evidence that he was alone. Her mind sifted through possibilities. If she were to leave him here, he would be found. Either by the people who set the trap, or worse, by the fey. If she were to bring him home…._

_She could imagine the eyes on her. She could almost hear the whispers. People passing around the idea that the twins were too different. Like strange creatures of the forest. Like interlopers._

_“Who cares?” she muttered to herself. “They think it enough already. Let them stare.”_

_She lifted the trap._

Vex dipped her hands into the bowl of water at the edge of the graveyard. She washed herself clean of the marks of the world, the simple ritual of her twisting hands soothing a little of her inner turbulence. Then she swung open the gate.

Despite the superstitions some people held, she had never found the home of the dead particularly sinister. Especially today. The sun was shining, light breeze rustling through green leaves, distant birds exchanging whistles. Above the rows of tombstones, the Church of the Dawn peeked out between yew trees, its gabled roof extending to the sky.

But the graveyard _did_ feel sacred.

There was a certain breath-held tension in its quietness. A certain sense that reality was suspended here. And Vex had never known quite what to think of the gods, but with beams of light scattered between branches, and the names of generations carved around her, she felt closer than ever to the divine world. She felt like, perhaps, her mother was still watching her.

She bent down before the grave. Its stone read, simply; _Elaina of Byroden, beloved mother._

Vex pulled away the decaying flowers left there on a previous visit and withdrew a fresh bunch from her pocket.

“It’s been too long,” she whispered, as she laid them on the grave. “We used to bring you new flowers before the others even had a chance to droop, didn’t we? I suppose it’s been seven years now. We’re growing careless.”

No answer, of course. Just the stirring of leaves in the yew trees.

Vex glanced around the graveyard and spotted two people in the far corner. So she couldn’t lay out all her problems in the open, for risk of being overheard. She sighed.

“How I wish you were still here,” she said. “I need your advice. Me and Vax both.”

Tears welled in her eyes. Her throat tightened.

“But you must know that. They say you’re watching. They say you look after us and guide our paths. I hope it’s true. Pelor knows, your love is strong enough to reach beyond the grave.”

She laughed, a bitter edge to the pretty sound.

Because her mother was not supposed to love her. She was supposed to fear and mistrust the strange little twins who grew up in her house, with eyes too sharp, and feet too light. She was supposed to wish them gone, exchanged for plain, unthreatening, human creatures. She was supposed to harden her heart toward them.

Instead, her heart had been open. And, in the end, it doomed her.

Vex would never get over it. With every passing day, she learned more about the intricacies of her mother’s life, and understood the profound nature of her love. And with every passing day, she marvelled.

Elaina had been so brave. So foolish. So impossibly kind.

Vex realised it was time to go. Her hands formed the gesture of the rising sun.

“Pelor bless you, Mama,” she whispered.

And then she stood and left the graveyard.

As she washed her hands by the gate, Trinket returned to her side. He brushed his soft face against her.

“Come on, darling, into the village we go.”

As she walked with her cloud of gloom still hovering over her head, she almost missed the figure approaching, coming in at a run from the direction of her cottage.

But her instincts were quick. She turned in time to see dark hair pulled back, and a familiar tattered cloak.

“Hey, stubby!” her brother yelled.

“Vax!”

She opened her arms as he leapt toward her, grabbing her in the tightest hug he could.

“You’re back from town!” she said. “I thought you weren’t due until the afternoon.”

“I left early,” he explained. “I felt weird all night. Couldn’t get to sleep. Didn’t want to be alone.”

“How strange.” She pressed a kiss to his temple. “I’ve been feeling like that too.”

He let her go so he could look at her, brow furrowed with that sorrowful crease that never seemed to go away.

“You don’t think it’s… to do with…?”

Vex paled.

“Perhaps,” she said, glancing east. “But let’s not discuss that now. In the open. Tell me about your trip!”

Vax was happy to comply. As usual, he was full of stories, having travelled with eccentric merchants to the nearby town of Emon. He shared all their gossip, and as the twins walked down to the village square, they laughed over the trivial concerns of the rich. Until, suddenly, Vax trailed off mid-sentence.

For a moment, Vex thought there was something wrong. But when she looked at him, she saw him starry eyed and staring into the distance. Followed his gaze.

There was Keyleth, standing at the side of the square. She wore her usual satchel, long skirt, and bare feet. She was smiling, talking with one of the local women, handing over a vial of medicine. Her hair caught the sun. Her freckles trailed up bare arms. It was no surprise, then, that Vax was captivated.

And in the midst of her amusement, Vex spotted something else. A man lurking in Keyleth’s shadow.

She knew him instantly, though she hadn’t set eyes on him for months. Distinctive white hair, strong nose, gold-rimmed glasses glinting in the sun. A sort of… deliberation in his stance. As though he held himself with care.

It was Lord Percival de Rolo. Come out of hiding at last. His first public appearance since the tragedy, which Vex still recalled in such vivid detail.

_A cold night. A reticent winter, with the whole world frosted over, hiding away in layers of white. Vex, training for the Grey Hunt, with her bear at her side and her bow in her hand, sprinting through the forest._

_The smoke that suddenly erupted on the horizon. The shiver that passed over the landscape. The sense that something was_ wrong.

_Vex, muscles tensing, turned toward the village. She didn’t stop running until she reached the outer edge, where she spotted a crowd gathered in front of the church. They were talking all at once, moving around a figure crumpled on the ground._

_Keyleth was bent over, checking for a pulse._

_As Vex moved closer, she began to distinguish specific features. A young man lay splayed out in the snow. He looked like a painting from the pages of a book. A dashing, unique sort of face, slack and pale with fear. Long limbs and fancy coat._

_But the story must have been a tragedy. For his hair was as stark white as winter, and pale lashes rested on his cheeks, eyes shut in sleep or death. There was blood over his clothes. On his hands. Scorch marks against the edge of his embroidered sleeve._

_He was the sort of prince that should be woken with a kiss._

_Then Vex was jerked back to reality by the voice of Father Wilhand, the village priest, who had taken up the role of leader in the chaos of the crowd._

_“Scouts?” he asked. “Do we have any scouts here?”_

_“Yes,” she said, stepping forward._

_Around her, other village hunters also answered the call. She had worked with all of them before, in emergencies that called for those who could navigate the forest. Though they often shot her suspicious glances._

_Father Wilhand briefly explained what had happened: the young lord bursting from the trees, spouting a few desperate words, passing out._

_“And it sounds like the fey are to blame,” he warned. “So tread carefully. Move in pairs. Don’t engage. Observe and return. And may the light of dawn go with you.”_

_“Thank you, Father,” they responded._

_Vex glanced around for her brother, but Vax had not arrived. So she paired up with Grog for the scouting mission. She liked him. He was one of few people who truly, completely trusted her—who never hesitated over a theory she posed, nor kept his own ideas veiled in careful nicety._

_He was armed with an axe for chopping wood. She still had her bow and arrows._

_They vanished between the trees together. This part of the forest was safe for human passage, distinguishable, in that impossible way, from the Faerie Forest, which was spread around them in its many sections. There was the Court of Syngorn in the east, and the Court of Frost in the west, and worse than both of them, the dreaded Briarwood, which choked all the northern hills beyond the Whitestone estate._

_Vex figured they were dealing with the Briarwood fey now. It made her nervous._

_As she and Grog climbed the final rise above Whitestone castle, she held up a finger to slow him. The smoke was thicker than ever ahead, likely giving them some cover, but they had to approach delicately._

_The treeline ended at the top of the hill. She crouched against an oak with Grog, peering into the valley. And she let out a breath at the sight that met them. The entire castle was, impossibly, on fire. Made of stone, but lit up with strange fey flames, in shades of purple and magenta._

_“Fuck,” Grog said._

_“Look at that.”_

_Vex pointed. There were figures gathered by the castle gates, leering up at the destruction they wrought. Their ears were pointed, their rapidly chattering mouths marked with sharp teeth, their long cloaks embroidered with the symbol of a thorny plant. They raised their hands and moved them in an arcane pattern._

_And in the distance, the Briarwood was shifting in response._

_It undulated like a living creature, tendrils of bramble and bracken shifting as though responding to an irresistible call. It swelled down the dips of the hill. It grew over open ground and swallowed up the small pruned trees at the edges of the estate. It rose like a tide toward the castle’s outer walls._

_“Can we do anything?” Grog asked._

_Vex considered the question. Thought of every connection she had, and what they might owe her. Knew it was a lost cause._

_“No. We can’t do anything.”_

_“Then we just report back?”_

_“Yes, Grog, that’ll have to be enough.”_

_He heaved a sigh and turned. She spared one last glance before she followed him—one second of respectful silence for the dying home of Percival de Rolo, lost to an age-old war between the humans and the fey. Then she vanished like a shadow in the forest._

“Hello you two!”

Pike’s voice brought both twins back to attention. She was standing in front of them, wearing her casual vestments, sleeves rolled up to the elbows. Her black hair was bound at the crown of her head, and her smile was bright. Around her neck hung the symbol of the Dawnflower.

“Hello, Pike!” Vex said. “What are you up to today?” 

“Running errands. Searching for Keyleth.”

“You’re in luck.” Vex pointed. “She’s right over there. And, if I’m not mistaken, Percival de Rolo has come with her.”

Pike’s mouth dropped open.

“That’s him!” she confirmed. “What a surprise! We should go introduce ourselves. Make him feel welcome. He hasn’t been outside since… you know…”

So they followed her across the square, where Keyleth immediately lit up at the sight of them approaching. She tugged them into an awkward hug, all elbows and no grace, and Vex had to smile. The druid was still new to the village, and her enthusiasm was so refreshing.

“I’m glad you’re here!” Keyleth said. “I have someone for you to meet. This is Percy! Percy, these are my friends. Pike, who you may know already. She’s the Deacon of Sarenrae—”

“Hello,” Pike said.

“—Vax, who trades in items of interest—”

“Morning.”

“—And Vex, the best hunter in the village.”

“Oh, please,” Vex laughed. “You flatter me.”

“I’m serious!”

“She’s right.”

“You _are_ the best.”

Vex rolled her eyes and extended an open palm to Percy.

“Ignore them,” she said. “But it’s lovely to meet you, darling.”

“Yes, of course,” Percy shook her hand. “It’s nice to meet you too, Vex, best hunter in the village.”

There was a teasing spark in his eye. Unexpected. Appealing.

“Ah,” Vex sighed. “I see I must accept the burden of the title.”

She winked, and despite his cool exterior, a blush rose to Percy’s cheeks. Curious, Vex experimented a little further, wondering how flustered she could make him.

“What about you, Percy? Where do your talents lie?”

“Oh,” he fumbled for an answer. “Nowhere, really. I suppose I like to think of myself as a scholar. A tinkerer, perhaps.”

“So you’re good with your hands?”

“Ah.” His cheeks were vivid pink. “I suppose I am.”

He looked quite uniquely agonised. A type of embarrassment that Vex hadn’t expected to encounter in a man so outwardly put-together. She was fascinated.

“ _Anyway,”_ Vax said sharply. “Pike was looking for you, Keyleth. She wanted to talk about something.”

“True,” Pike said, stifling a smile. “I just got your message about Sybil. Of course, I’m willing to help with another birth, but I had no idea she was even expecting. When is she due?”

“Very soon. The eve of Highsummer.”

“In thirteen days? But she’s hardly showing!”

There was a small, choked sound from Percy. Just loud enough to halt them all. They turned to face him. Saw his cheeks entirely drained of colour, his expression marked by horror.

“H-Highsummer?” he asked, voice strangled. “Highsummer is in thirteen days?”

Pike’s expression was hesitant.

“Yes,” she confirmed.

“But- but it was winter when my family…”

Percy trailed off, stared at all of them in turn, as if expecting this to be some sort of joke. As if thinking they might be lying.

“Has it been that long?” he asked.

His voice was small, his shoulders caved, and Vex realised what the problem was. After everything he went through, he must have been watching the world in numb detachment, drowned in loss, swallowed up by trauma, with no idea how much time was passing.

She felt the sudden urge to reach for him. Like he was a thread of silk, about to snap, and she was the only one who could stop it.

“Excuse me for a moment,” Percy said, holding tight to his tenuous politeness, as though he should worry about saving face right now. “I apologise for leaving so abruptly. I-I need a moment to process this.”

And he turned on his heel and left, up the hill toward the druid’s cottage, where he had passed the last five months in the hollow emptiness of grief.


	3. why are you digging? what did you bury?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here comes angst and complications... hope you have fun anyway..
> 
> i'm loving your comments!!

**_The two weeks leading up to Highsummer._ **

Percy felt like he had woken from hibernation.

The world around him was ablaze with signs of summer: the bright sunshine, the long days, the lush greenery. He wondered how he could have missed it all, seasons rushing by beyond his window.

He supposed he’d been consumed with grief. Adrift in sorrow. Turned into creature of despair caught up in hollow dreams of vengeance.

Keyleth, in all her kindness, said that was understandable. She followed him home, that first day, when he realised the approach of Highsummer. She explained that it was natural to lose chunks of memory when going through trauma. She listened to his frustrations and prepared him a tonic which might help him cope with his anxiety and stress. Apparently, she’d offered it before, but he’d been too mentally absent to accept.

Percy judged himself much more harshly than she did. He saw weakness in his inability to rise up against the tides of his anguish.

At least he was awake now.

He set himself to work with as much vigour as he could summon, aided by the tonic he now took every morning. He began with simple things, designing and crafting water pumps for Keyleth’s garden, and he dreamed of grand tinkering projects.

He started making friends as well—a version of progress which surprised him.

All his connections could be credited to Keyleth, of course. She knew everyone in the village by virtue of her position. But many of those relationships were purely professional. She confessed to Percy that she thought it near impossible to break into social circles when everyone had grown up together. And truthfully, she was rather awkward. But there were a few blessed expectations. Pike and Grog, the adopted siblings who lived beside the church, who were best of friends, and so secure in their bond that they were open-minded with everyone else. And Vax and Vex, the strange twins, who were treated to hesitant polite suspicion from their fellow villagers.

Percy got to know all of them. He met Grog the day after he met the others, when he went walking down to the church, and encountered an immense man chopping wood.

“Afternoon!” Grog called. “Are you visiting Whitestone?”

“Well, not exactly,” he said carefully. “I’m from here. I’m Percy.”

“Oh!” Grog dropped his axe and grinned. “Pike said you’re nice!”

“Did she?”

He supposed that made sense. He could consider himself ‘nice.’ Not ‘kind,’ perhaps. Not even ‘good.’ But he was still ‘nice.’

“Are you looking for her now?” Grog asked.

“I was hoping to ask whether it might be possible for me to use the church library,” Percy said.

Grog made a face.

“I’m sure you can. I’m going there soon, if you want to come.”

“Oh, you are?”

“Pike’s teaching me how to read.”

And so began a sort of routine. Several days a week, Pike unlocked the door to the church library and let Percy and Grog inside. The room itself wasn’t particularly impressive—three sets of shelves, lined with books, and two large tables, lit through a dim window. Pike and Grog took one of those tables, nearest to the light, and went through their lessons for the day. Percy took the other, and stacked up books from the shelves, along with a small notebook in which he was recording his findings.

It was calm and companionable. He felt grateful that the others were happy to have him there, and tried his best to stay out of their way. In turn, they never asked what he was seeking among the pages of the dusty tomes.

Most weren’t really useful to him anyway. As one might expect in the Church of the Dawn, their primary focus was on religion. They told the tale of the two dawn gods, Sarenrae and Pelor, and the history of their worship, and the aspects of their separate, complementary domains. Some books were calligraphed by hand and bound together, others printed. Most came from nearby towns, though a few had been sourced from distant lands, and fewer still had been written by faithful citizens of Whitestone.

But, among the stacks, there were hidden gems for Percy—books that gave insight to local culture, lore, and history. These, the young scholar built up around his chair. He worked through them slowly, combing the pages for mentions of the fey, especially those in the Briarwood. And he wrote out meticulous notes.

He wasn’t entirely sure why he was collecting so much specific knowledge now. But he felt it would be useful in the future. It would contribute to a sort of informed, calculated revenge.

And some nights, when he left the library late, he would hurry through the orchard back to Keyleth’s cottage, clutching his notebook close, and he felt a prickle on the back of his neck. A sense that something was watching him. Invested in his mission.

Outside of those afternoons of study, Percy spent a lot of time with Keyleth, and found their friendship developed quite naturally.

They fought like he’d never expected—disagreeing on all sorts of issues, with regards to nobility and legacy and the dangers of the fey. But those arguments blew over quickly, and left both of them with growing respect for one another. They felt a friendship based on honesty was more important than one based on surface level agreement.

While Keyleth worked in her garden, Percy designed things to help her. He crafted a new chicken coop. He set up a second stove where she could make her medicines. They spent hours in companionable silence in the sunshine. It felt as warm and wonderful as the spoon of tonic he drank every morning—a different kind of imperceptible progression toward healing.

As for the twins…

Vax was always willing to stop and chat, sometimes even involving Percy in his ongoing prank war with Grog, but he was busy. He seemed to travel more than anyone else in Whitestone. He worked with merchants in a trading capacity, though Percy could tell he didn’t have the same mind for a deal that his sister did. In fact, he had very limited business acumen of any kind. And soon, Percy began to suspect that his fascination with the merchants had little to do with his career and a lot to do with a handsome, dark skinned man always dressed in purple silk: Shaun Gilmore.

Interestingly, Vax seemed to have a similar weakness for Keyleth. Percy watched the starry eyed, smitten looks directed at both objects of his affections, and wondered what would come of it.

Not that he was in any position to judge a complicated crush. He was developing one of his own, for the mysterious, gorgeous Vex’ahlia.

Vex worked out in the woods most of the time, hunting and ranging on the edges of the Faerie Forest, sometimes in conjunction with other villagers. Some days, she came back into town with meat to sell in the square, and she looked radiant in the summer sun, her smug smile echoing the dangerous, enthralling movements of her body, which allowed her to prowl through the forest in skilful silence.

Everyone looked at her warily when she came, though Percy had been unable to get a straight answer as to why. He thought, perhaps, that her talents intimidated them. Or they sensed the same ineffable quality that was drawing him in—the certainty that she was more compelling and interesting than anyone else in the world.

He spoke to her, when he could get up the courage. He always gave her more money than she asked for every piece of meat he carried home, resisting the urge to simply hand her his entire purse.

He began to craft things for her too, unable to resist. He made archery gloves from the hide of one of her rabbits. He spent hours on special, unique arrows. When he gave those things to her, he saw a strange softness in her face. It was addictive.

On the whole, he was amazed by the sudden shaft of light that had splintered through the gloom of his new life.

Yet he held onto hesitance. He couldn’t accept the wonderful world that he could see opening up before him, because there were too many shadows at his back. Too much pain had passed through him. And every time he thought of his family, he drifted back into mind-rending agony again.

Percy knew he needed his revenge. He would embrace death to gain it. It was the only path to closure.

So, he reminded himself, over and over, that all goods things were borrowed treasures. They wouldn’t last. They couldn’t be claimed. One day, when he was sufficiently prepared, he would accept the darkness, and let it overcome the last vestiges of joy.

And as those two weeks went by, and friendships grew, Percy reminded himself; _this is not my place_. But a traitorous hopeful whisper rose in the back of his mind; _if I was worthy of having friends, I would want these ones._

…

**_Highsummer, waning moon, dusk._ **

Vex helped set up for the Highsummer feast in Whitestone. She prepared meat with the other hunters, sticking to the edge of the group, beside Grog. She listened to him talk, and when addressed by anyone, dropped her usual sort of witty, aloof conversation.

These were some of the people she knew best, and still, she had to hold them at a distance. They respected her enough to actually talk with her. Some of the younger ones, she knew, even found her attractive, in a furtive, forbidden sort of way. But it wasn’t real friendship. Only Grog, sweet and oblivious, offered that kind of trust to someone so shrouded in rumours.

She sighed and twisted together the last weave of rope, testing its strength to hold up the wild boar she and Grog were roasting. She gave him the affirmative nod, and he hooked it onto the pole over the fire. Then she looked around.

They were setting up in a field on the outskirts of the village. As well as meal preparation, other locals were laying down tables and chairs and decorations. Vex could see her brother weaving paper wreathes with Pike. Keyleth and Percy were setting out sprigs of flowers. Everything was coming together.

This celebration would put a lot of pressure on Whitestone village. In their region, under the mantle of the de Rolo leadership, there were seven small settlements. Two towns, five villages. And every year, at Highsummer, one of those settlements took their turn at hosting their most important figures—elders, religious leaders, and lesser nobles, as well as any number of guests that might chose to travel.

For the last six years, Whitestone had only held quiet, local celebrations, without the pressure of hosting. But now, it was their turn.

Of course, the whole region now knew about the disaster that had befallen the de Rolo castle, and the fact that they were now afloat without their usual figurehead family. But they had decided to keep celebrating anyway, to keep the fear at bay.

It would put a lot of pressure on Percy, though.

Vex eyed him from across the way. He knew he was about to be the centre of attention, and she could see, in the tension of his shoulders, and the tightness of his mouth, that he was dreading it.

He would have to sit at the table and partake in the feast and listen to the music. He would have to speak with other leaders, and perhaps, after all these months allowed to his grieving, they might begin to ask him what he planned to do next. He would be required to make important decisions.

And despite his outward composure, Vex suspected that he felt ill-equipped to be placed in such a position of responsibility. The weight of his name was bearing down on the back of his neck.

She almost wished she could stay, like some sort of silent support, to help him. They got on so well and understood each other in unspoken ways. She knew her presence could bring some lightness to him in a hard time. Or perhaps she simply _hoped_ it could.

But, unfortunately, she and Vax would have to leave early. They had another kind of Highsummer celebration to attend. One that filled her with anxiety as bad as Percy’s…

_One month after their mother died, Vex and Vax were still swamped by grief. They woke in the little cottage that now felt empty and dim and haunted. They worked all day to scrape together enough to keep themselves alive. They visited the graveyard and laid out flowers. And they returned home for a meagre meal before bed._

_The night when everything changed again, they were eating stew._

_Lumps of root vegetable, small pickled onions, and malformed carrots, all thickened out with what little flour and flavour they had. No meat today, which made Vex furious, her glance falling toward her handful of arrows, remembering the squirrel escaping into the highest branches. She was determined to get the hang of hunting, no matter how long it took._

_And then a shadow fell over the window._

_Vex caught it in the corner of her eye. She leapt for the bow and arrow, notching one, pointing it in that direction. Vax grabbed a knife off the table, flecks of carrot skin still clinging to the blade._

_“Who are you?” Vex snarled._

_The figure held up both hands, as if in surrender, and stepped close enough for the fire to light his face._

_And the twins gasped. For he looked familiar—a touch of their traits in his face. Especially the eyes. Dark eyes. Sharp and observant. The ones that got them both in trouble and earned suspicious glances from the villagers._

_Faerie eyes._

_And the fey features extended beyond that. The stranger’s skin was perfectly smooth and soft, and its bronze shade looked as luminous as polished wood in the firelight. His ears were pointed and long and inhuman. There was a sharp glint of canines in his mouth._

_“I think you know who I am,” he said. “I’m coming inside to speak with you. Don’t shoot me. Don’t make a fuss. We all know how dangerous it would be if any of your neighbours saw me here.”_

_Vax glanced to his sister._

_“We won’t let you in,” he growled._

_But Vex was more practical, less impulsive, and she knew the truth._

_“Yes, we will,” she whispered. “Or we’ll think about this day forever and feel all our unanswered questions buzzing in our ears.”_

_“It’s not safe—” Vax started._

_“We can’t allow the villagers to see him hovering by our window.”_

_She lowered the arrow. Nodded._

_Vax hissed, and kept gripping his knife, but he jerked his head toward the faerie, giving his approval. And the stranger stepped inside._

_“Thank you,” he said. His voice was strangely sedate. “I have been waiting for this day for a long time. I hoped it might come sooner, but Elaina wouldn’t allow me to speak with you, and magical law can be complicated.”_

_“Our mother?” Vex snapped. “How do you know her?”_

_“I first saw her fourteen years ago. And I have spoken to her a few times since. When you were ten, I visited. Then again, when you were twelve. And now…”_

_“Why come back?” Vex interrupted._

_“Because she’s dead,” he said, so casually. Like it didn’t send a shard of pain through both twins. “So I can speak with the two of you alone, and offer you some hope.”_

_“Hope?” Vax said. His voice roiled with fury and fresh grief. “What hope can you offer us?”_

_“I am your father,” said the faerie._

_They were silent._

_Tension. Pain. The dull and horrible inevitability of the truth._

_“My name is Syldor Vessar.”_

_Vex shook her head, as if to clear it._

_“So are we half fey?” she asked. “Or changelings?”_

_Syldor’s face contorted, for a moment, in disgust._

_“You are half fey. I haven’t engaged in… anything with that human woman.”_

_“That’s our mother,” Vax growled. “Call her by her_ name.”

_Syldor held up his hands again, in horrible patronising patience._

_“I am aware that you think so,” he said. “Confusion is common for changelings. But you_ are _both faeries. That cannot be denied. And you don’t have to be alone right now, in this human world which refuses to accept you. My people can offer protection and comfort and a wonderful future for both of you.”_

_“No,” Vex said._

_“But—”_

_“No.” She interrupted him a second time, eyes blazing with black fire, all the determination in her young heart bringing her confidence to the surface. “We will not go with you. This is our home and we’re not leaving.”_

_Syldor looked at her face, taking in the depths of her emotion. He was infuriatingly calm. Almost detached. A man who thought his understanding went far beyond her own._

_A man who abandoned her._

_“I understand.” He sighed at last. “Sometimes the past is difficult to face.”_

_“Fuck you,” Vax said._

_“I will return someday,” Syldor continued. “You cannot deny what’s inside you. I will invite you to our celebrations and our important rites. I will offer you sustenance when you need it. I will offer you magic beyond your imagination.”_

_“Leave,” said Vex._

_Her brother was still burning, but her anger was running away from her like smoke in the wind. She felt tried already. Drained. She didn’t want to hear what he could offer. She didn’t want to hear about the world of the fey._

_Syldor stood, and leapt back out of the window, eerily graceful. He loped away across the fields beyond the house and vanished in the outskirts of the forest. The twins’ shoulders slumped. They turned to face each other._

_“So, it’s true,” Vex said, voice cracking. “Every whisper. Every rumour. The things people say about us… we_ are _changelings. We don’t belong.”_

_“We belong with each other.” Vax spoke fiercely. As if he could solve everything._

_So Vex took his hand, and squeezed it, and they went to bed._

_After tossing and turning, Vax eventually drifted off, his eyelids flickering with the indication of dark dreams. But Vex lay awake long into the night, under the heavy weight of scratchy woollen blankets, her brother’s warmth acting as her only barrier against the true intensity of her fear. And she thought of their little jar of brass coins, running low. And, separated from the initial wave of shock, she wondered what kind of future the fey could actually offer._

…

Percy felt like a mechanism wound too tight. His chest was flooded. His muscles had turned so tense his neck and shoulders felt like stone.

He sat at the table of honour at the edge of the Whitestone village feast, staring out at the beautiful celebration spread before him. The people were all smiling, milling around, greeting old friends.

He took a deep breath. On all sides, he was surrounded by important figures from other settlements. Most had known him since he was born. They offered awkward condolences and talked to him, still, as if he was a child. He was dreading the meetings they would have the following day, to discuss the future of the region, and his place as the last surviving member of their leading noble family.

He had no idea where to pass on the mantle of leadership. But he wouldn’t be taking it. That much was certain.

Music started up at the side of the field. A troupe from a nearby town had come to provide some entertainment.

People began to dance. It would be a while yet before the meal was served, with key elements of meat and vegetables still roasting on traditional fires and dugout ovens at the other side of the crowd, so they had plenty of time for other frivolity. They looked colourful and carefree.

Percy found himself seeking Vex—a habit at this point. He liked the feeling when her eyes met his.

She was still standing with the hunters, close to Grog, discussing the portion of the feast they were in charge of. But her expression flickered, as though she sensed his gaze, and her head tilted up, her stare running straight to Percy.

He felt heat creep to his face. A pounding in his heart.

Vex said something soft to Grog and began to weave her way toward him. For once, surrounded by so many strangers, she seemed to blend in with the crowd. No one cast so much as a strange look in her direction.

Or, rather, she blended in for everyone but Percy, who would never be able to keep himself from noticing her.

“Hello, darling,” she said when she reached him, a wicked smile on her face. “Need to let loose a little?”

Percy’s brows shot up, recognising the challenge in her tone.

“‘Let loose’ how?”

Vex shrugged her shoulders and looked toward the swirl of dancing bodies.

“I assume you know how to dance? Will you be my partner for the evening?”

He nodded, despite his hesitance, wondering if the kind of dancing he knew would even be compatible with hers.

“I do.”

“Then hurry along, or we’ll miss the start of the next song.”

Percy, helpless to refuse her, took her offered head, and let her lead him to the dance circle. The music came to a close as they arrived, people shifting partners, and preparing for the start of the next piece.

Vex guided one of Percy’s hands to her waist, then slid her fingers into his. They were bowstring-calloused and steady, but small inside his large palm. She tilted toward him, closer than he expected, and smiled.

“You look worried. It won’t be too difficult.”

“I’m not worried about it being difficult.”

Thankfully, she didn’t press for more detail. Didn’t ask what was really making his heart race. Though he was sure the pulse at his wrist must beat so hot she could feel it.

The music started, with fiddle and flute. Percy, used to something slower, was startled. But Vex swept him up in a series of steps, and he realised the patterns of movement were familiar enough, if rather quick.

As his focus went to the dance, he lost his worries. There was no chance to think of anything beyond the beat of the music, and the vibrant woman in his arms, who threw back her head to laugh.

He had to glance down, occasionally, to the quick weavings of their footsteps. He noticed the way her chest pressed close to his, a hairsbreadth between their bodies, her bodice tight and deep indigo against her brown skin, raising pink to his cheeks. Her own face was flushed from the dancing. Her long braid swung out behind them.

And unknown to Vex and Percy, they were drawing attention from the audience. People paused to take in the captivating beauty of their young faces. The harmonious motion of their bodies. Their bright smiles and quick breath. The enthralling combination of Percy’s noble dance training, and Vex’s wild, confident movements.

“Where did you learn to dance?” he gasped, as one song plateaued and blended into something new.

She turned her face down, repositioning her feet.

“Ah, now that would ruin the mystery.”

And before he could press any further, she swept him into the next song.

Eventually, people tired of watching them. They re-joined the fun. The music led them through, and there were group dances, and all sorts of rearrangements, until at last, Percy was exhausted. He had to step out of the throng, Vex beside him, and they went to join their friends beside one of the tables.

“Impressive,” Vax said. He looked annoyed.

“Yes,” Vex agreed, stubborn tilt to her jaw. “I needed a good dance.”

She rolled her shoulders, and Percy tried not to stare. Instead, he smiled at Keyleth, forcing his focus to turn to conversation, rather than the absorbing feeling of holding Vex in his arms.

“Have you danced yet?” he asked her.

“No way,” she said. “I’m all knees and elbows.”

He still felt flushed and a little giddy. Intoxicated by enthusiasm.

“Oh, but it’s fun!” he said.

Keyleth’s smile was almost a smirk. “I might go in later, when I’ve had a little more to drink. Seriously, I’m not a professional like you guys. Say, Vex, where’d you learn to dance?”

“Oh, look!” Vex spoke brightly, ignoring the question directed her way. “There’s Lady Kima!”

Percy’s heart jumped and he turned.

Kima of Vord was striding toward them, grin on her face, answering Vex’s wave and approaching their table. She went without her usual armour today, a linen shirt rolled to the elbows being about all the formality she would make allowance for.

“Off duty, Kima?” Pike asked.

“You bet!”

Kima greeted them all with hugs and came last to Percy. Her eyes were sadder than he’d ever seen them, for she had known his family well. Her parents were lesser nobles, hence the title attached to her name, and the children of Vord had played with the de Rolo’s in their youth. Kima had followed a path rather difference from Percy—tearing around the gardens while he studied indoors, then later training up to join the city guard in Emon—but they had a certain affection for each other. Like distant cousins.

“How are you doing?” she asked.

“I’m okay,” he said, and she saw the lie in it right away.

She didn’t comment though. She wasn’t one to dig right into complicated feelings. Instead, she sat at the table, and called for a beer of her own, then regaled them with stories of her recent adventures. She was older than them all, and quite involved in her duties.

“…and of course, we have the disappearing cattle,” Kima said. Her features turned harsh. “Seems to be the fucking fey, by all accounts.”

The tension at the table rose palpably. At the mere mention of the fey, Percy’s blood roared. His hand tightened on his mug. The rest of the celebration fell away.

“They’re taking cattle?” he asked.

“Yeah!” Kima took a swig, frowning. “First it was a couple at the edges of the Briarwood, which was strange, because there were effigies set up, and the fey usually don’t bother with things so _big,_ you know? But then…”

She glanced around, to make sure no one was listening.

“This is being kept pretty quiet, because we don’t want mass panic, but I can trust you guys, right?”

“Yeah,” Grog said.

Kima looked at him for a moment, as though suspecting he was the most likely to accidentally let a secret slip. But she decided to go for it.

“Well, three more cows were reported stolen in the middle of the night, with no sign at all of how they’d been taken. One from a family who could hardly afford to keep themselves alive without that milk.” Her expression was twisted. “It’s dark stuff. Impossible to fight against. Fey magic.”

“They’re evil,” Percy said. His face was still flushed. The dancing, the drink, the main source of his rage, all swirled together in his belly. “They don’t have any consideration for what they take. They simply… take it.”

“Heartless fuckers,” Kima agreed.

“Isn’t there anything we can do?” Percy asked.

“I want to try.” Kima looked at him carefully. “It’s difficult, getting these plans past all the regulations in the guard. They want to keep their workers safe, but I’m sick of _talking_. I want to go out there and find out why this is happening.”

“Understandable!” Percy agreed.

“I’d even talk to one. A faerie. If I could get my hands on it!”

“Now, Kima,” Pike spoke gently. “I would be careful messing with them.”

“They talk all tricky,” Grog said. “They’ll spin your head around.”

“Sure, we always _hear_ that,” Kima said, “but who knows! Maybe they’re easier to get to than we expect. I doubt one individual would be so dangerous that I couldn’t get out a word or two.”

“Even the spookiest stories say there are ways to speak with them,” Percy agreed.

He was aware of the tight atmosphere. The choking sort of quiet over most of their table. But he felt like he was caught up in a storm. His anger burned so sweet, fuelled on by Kima’s disregard for caution, and all the emotional, loving fury in her face. His thoughts of revenge were growing deep within him.

“I told that to our captain,” Kima said. “But he’s not budging yet.”

“I could talk to him with you. Bring out some examples from our histories—people waiting beside faerie circles and trapping the beasts with smoke and animal bones. There’re even tales of people drawing out promises from a faerie.”

“It sounds risky,” Keyleth said.

“We would plan it thoroughly first!” Percy said. “No risks and no room for failure, because this is _important._ The fey shouldn’t be venturing into the human world. We can’t _let them._ They’re untrustworthy and irredeemable! _Every last one_!”

His hands were in such tight fists, his nails cut small crescents on his palms. There were tears in his eyes. He tried to slow his breathing, a little embarrassed by such an emotional display.

Kima spoke more carefully now.

“I’m not so foolhardy that I’ll forget my responsibilities,” she assured them. “I’m not going in like a dumbass to make a deal with a faerie. I’m walking in with my eyes open.”

That made a flash of embarrassment rise up in Percy. _Make a deal with a faerie…_

But that had been a dream. He dismissed it.

“And you won’t go alone?” asked Pike.

“No,” said Kima. “I’ll be talking to the captain more, and getting other guards sorted. If cattle keep going missing, we’ll have to do _something._ ”

“I suppose we will.”

“They’ve walked all over us for too long,” Kima muttered, glancing at Percy. “I just want to put a stop to it.”

“Lady Kima, I couldn’t agree more.”

And with that statement, Percy downed the rest of his drink. He looked around the table. Pike, Grog, and Keyleth looked uncomfortable and worried. Their shoulders were hunched. Their drinks were forgotten.

And the twins were gone.

“Oh shit,” Kima said, noticing as well. “Their mother was killed by the fey. I should have been more sensitive, talking about it. I didn’t think…”

It was news to Percy.

He felt guilt clutch his chest, for having made Vex upset enough to leave without a word. But there was something else too. He ached, to think she had lost family to _them_ as well—to think she might understand him in the most raw, real way he could imagine.

Then he saw the flash of glance Keyleth and Pike directed straight at Grog, silencing his opening mouth. And he wondered if there was something more happening than what they were letting on.

…

Vex felt out-of-sorts, discomfort churning low in her belly. She and Vax had fled as talk turned to the fey, but not before she heard what Percy said, his voice still echoing in her ears; _they’re untrustworthy and irredeemable! Every last one!_

The twins would have dipped out of the celebration early anyway, but Vex had to admit, she’d picked that moment because she was afraid. She didn’t want to hear the vitriol on Percy’s tongue. She didn’t want to imagine what he might think of her, if he knew the truth. She hadn’t known him long, but already, his opinion mattered more to her than she cared to admit.

And now she sat with her brother at the second Highsummer celebration—the forbidden, dangerous one—in the Faerie Forest.

They had been attending these events for years now, more frequently as time went by. They usually visited the Court of Syngorn, to which their father belonged. But they also met at the intersections, where feasts and parties brought _all_ the fey together, including their lesser helpers, like gnomes, and pixies, and even the flickering lights of sprite spirits. It was at such gatherings that Vex first learned to dance.

And now, it was Highsummer. As always, Vax hung close by Vex, the two of them currently separated from the dancing at a table of their own. Trinket lay down beside them, his dark eyes alert and cautious.

Suddenly, the bear shifted. His lips pulled back. Vex tensed, knowing someone familiar was approaching, and for once, hoping it was her father, rather than the other potential visitor.

“Hello, children,” Syldor said.

“Hello, father,” Vex said, with equal stiffness, hiding her relief.

“Yeah, hi,” Vax mumbled.

“Why didn’t you send Scanlan?” Vex asked. “He usually brings us to your table.”

Syldor looked amused. It was true, he tended to send his gnome assistant to fetch his children. In fact, Scanlan was about the only person in the Faerie Forest who the twins actually liked. Not that they would admit it to him. He was far too obnoxious to hear it.

“You’re so fond of Scanlan?” Syldor asked.

“A little,” Vex said.

“He’s alright,” Vax said.

“Good.” Their father sat down across from them, eyes intent. “It’s good that you develop attachments here.”

They made a matching noncommittal noise and didn’t meet his stare.

“When will you move in properly?” he asked.

Vax looked at Vex. He always did, when faced with this question.

“You must make a choice one day. It will be a danger to you, if people notice you disappearing into this part of the forest. And there is nothing out there to make it worth the risk. Move into the houses I set aside for you. Accept my offers. I thought you were interested in magic?”

“We are,” Vex said quickly, her voice betraying just a touch more of her desperation than she would like.

That was always the crux of the matter—the thing holding her down. She needed a promise of stability. And she could see the path so clearly, with all its allure and power. She knew her life with the fey would be so much easier than the exhausting labour of her daily human existence. She would have the nice things she’d longed for since she was a child. She would have excitement. And, most of all, she would prove herself, at last, to the only parental figure she had left.

Right now, Syldor looked at them like an obligation. He had pity in his eyes. But she wanted him to admit that he’d been wrong, when he cast them out. She wanted him to see that all the abandonment had not been worth whatever prize the faeries got for making changelings. She wanted him to _see_ her.

And she hated that very longing, even as it drove her.

So she teetered on the edge of her decision.

“Then join us,” Syldor said.

“You will have to be patient.”

As she spoke, Vex felt tears spring to her eyes and felt shame wrench at her guts. She wished she was stronger when faced with her father.

“I am patient,” Syldor gave one of his tight smiles. “Listen, Vex, I’ve told you of the hunt under the harvest moon. The golden doe. It would be the perfect chance for you to make a place among us. You need only approach the queen as a candidate.”

“I’ll think about it.”

He sighed, long and ancient.

“That’s all I ask,” he said.

And at last, he rose, and left them. Vex watched him spin away through the crowd, with all its rich, smooth colours, so far removed from the dusty, bright simplicity of Whitestone’s own Highsummer gathering. The fey parted like moving water, in tune with the lifeforce of everyone else in the crowd, never bumping. Vex missed the sight of Keyleth’s tripping feet, and her sweet grin with she apologised for crashing into someone.

She tried to shake the thought away. She needed no affection for the human world. Losing her mother had hurt her enough.

“Why do we consider it?” Vax asked. “Why stay with the fey? Why not just… be human?”

“Because we’re not human,” Vex whispered back. “Because it’s not our world. This is.”

“But we were raised human. It’s in us, somewhere. Our mother is still our mother.”

She looked up sharply, lips parting.

“Of _course,_ ” she said. “Of course she’s still our mother. She _always_ will be. More than _him._ More than any of these creatures.”

“Then why join them?”

“I can’t explain it Vax,” she whispered. “I feel weak. I feel lonely at the village, with all those eyes on us. I think this might be a chance, don’t you think? To become something?”

“You could be anything you want,” Vax allowed. “You know I think that. Vex, if you join this hunt, you’ll catch the golden doe, and they’ll all fucking adore you. I just… hope you want this. And everything that comes with it.”

She knew what he was speaking of. She laid a hand on Trinket’s back, needing the warmth of his fur.

“Do you desperately want to stay in the human world?” she asked. “Because you could. We don’t have to…” The thought broke her heart, but she needed to say it, for his sake. “We don’t have to stay together.”

“No,” Vax shook his head. “I’ll follow you.”

“But—”

“Vex, you are more important to me than anything. I trust you. It’s your choice to make.”

She wanted to tell him how that made her feel like she was choking, but looking into the strange warmth of his night-time eyes, she knew she couldn’t bear how much it would break his heart. He was simply devoted—intending to be sweet—and as much as he tried to protect her, she had always borne the weight of these big decisions.

So she nodded, and turned her face away.

“Give me a little time then, darling.”

“Of course.”

…

**_New moon, dawn._ **

It had been a while since Percy met with all the other regional leaders and discussed his position for the future. He had handed over authority as smoothly as he could, delegating things under the advice of Father Wilhand, grateful for the many years of wisdom and influence the old man carried, despite his reputation for eccentricity.

Word had gone out to the people soon after—that their primary lordly heir was officially stepping down from his duties, and the lesser nobles would take on the burdens—to be reassessed each passing year.

Percy had thought the whole thing would make him feel better. Instead, the darkness lingered on. He supposed that was the problem with trauma. Though the pressures of his life were alleviating, he would always have his own thoughts to haunt him. And his mind could produce effective torture beyond what the external world could come up with.

He heard a loud, disbelieving scream that tore him from his contemplations. He knew the voice immediately, and launched out of his room to follow the sound.

Percy found Keyleth in tears, shaking in the middle of her garden, holding the torn end of a long rope.

“Keyleth!” he called in alarm. “What’s happened? Are you okay?”

She turned to him, her red hair falling in her eyes, and held up the rope.

“She’s gone,” Keyleth said, voice hollow. “Minxie. They took her.”

Percy’s mouth fell open. Minxie was Keyleth’s cow—a strangely delicate cream-coloured little beast with big, lashed eyes. She produced very little milk, truth be told, but the young druid was so attached to her, she didn’t care.

And the fey had taken that love from her.

“ _No_ ,” Percy said. “I’m so sorry.”

Keyleth rubbed her eyes, and he tugged her into a hug. While she cried, another memory flashed through his mind. Cassandra, with tears in her eyes and scraped knees, clinging to him while he carried her back into the house.

The rage came over him quickly.

“We should go into town,” he said. “Report this. Find out if anyone else was hit last night.”

“Yeah,” Keyleth agreed, dabbing at her cheeks again. “You’re right. That’s sensible.”

Percy shared a sad smile with her.

“I aim to be sensible,” he said.

She seemed unaware of the true level of his anger as they walked down to Whitestone village, but he was boiling over, his emotions contained by self-control as tenuous as the shirt button done up at his throat. A veneer of composure. A restrained nobility holding back a fevered heartbeat.

People were gathered close in the town square, all talking. When they saw Percy, they made way. He still received their curious attention, despite stepping back from leadership.

“… and the Darrington’s lost one from their estate. It’s well guarded and out of the woods! How could the fey have gotten in?”

“The _Darrington’s_ lost a cow?” Percy asked.

The speaker turned toward them, nodding. “We have reports overnight of ten disappearances in the region!”

“Ten!” Percy gasped.

And then Father Wilhand noticed Keyleth. He was standing in the midst of the panicked crowd, of course, trying to provide guidance and insight.

“Are you alright, my dear?”

“I lost mine too,” she whispered, holding up her tattered rope. “Minxie. She’s gone.”

“Oh, Kiki,” Pike said, tucking an arm around her.

“This is a disaster!” someone else said. “How are we meant to protect ourselves?”

Other began to call out, pushing closer in the crowd. Percy tensed. The trapped feeling of that moment almost shattered through his anger, but then something happened to coax his flames into fire.

A new figure entered the square, calling out to Father Wilhand as he came.

He rode on horseback—dark skin, short black hair, undeniably handsome face. The kind of person Percy would stop to admire in any other circumstance. He leapt to the ground and approached, a sword sheathed at his waist.

“I see you’ve already heard some news of the fey activity last night,” he said.

“Yes, Jarret, do you bring word from Emon?”

“I do.” His expression was grim. “We have lost cattle as well. We heard two were taken from this village, yes? There were losses in all towns in the region. Not even restricted to houses near the boarders of the Faerie Forest. The Darrington estate, for example.”

“We heard,” Father Wilhand said.

“But there is more,” and this time, Jarrett looked a little more affected, as if he had some personal stake in it. “We have lost one of our guards. Lady Kima of Vord. She vanished in the night and no one can find her.”

“Kima?” Percy asked, the name tumbling out in his shock.

“Ah, Lord Percy,” Jarrett dipped his chin in a quick bow. “Yes, she didn’t report for her night shift, and her house was found empty. She has not returned.”

Percy recalled Kima’s ideas, to search for the fey and find justice. He remembered hearing updates since the Highsummer feast, that the captain of the guard was refusing to send his people into the forest. And he wondered if her impatience had taken over.

He felt helpless. Cowardly. To be standing here safe when she might be risking her life for justice.

Jarrett continued to deliver the messages he was instructed to pass on. But Percy wasn’t listening anymore. His head was buzzing. Dimly, he noticed Pike slip her arm away from Keyleth, and lean to whisper in her ear; “I need to speak with Vex.”

She stomped off through the crowd. Percy took her place at Keyleth’s side, and let her sink into him, exhausted.

Fantasies came to him—images of himself turning and marching toward the forest. Bringing vengeance on the fey. Finding Kima. Leading out a line of cattle and saving families from starvation. He thought of his notebook, with all its plans and postulations. He wanted to _act._

…

Vex was cleaning pelts outside her cottage when Pike approached. The little deacon looked troubled, her brow creased, her mouth tight. She waved only absently in response to Vex’s greeting.

“What’s wrong?” Vex said, as soon as she drew close enough.

“A great deal,” Pike sighed.

She sat beside her friend and explained all the news that had reached the village, from missing cattle to disappearance of Lady Kima. She seemed weary. And, by the end of the tale, Vex was upset as well.

“I know we don’t talk about it,” Pike said carefully. “But you have… certain connections in that world.”

Vex felt her whole expression tighten. Pike and Grog knew that the twins were changelings, of course. The rumour had gone around the village for their entire lives, inspired by their strange appearance. Through all of it, the little adopted siblings in the church of the dawn had been the only people willing to befriend them—the only people untouched by fear and prejudice. So Vex and Vax had confided in them when their father came. Vex and Vax had told them, beyond a doubt, that they would always be friends, even if, one day, they had to vanish into the forest and never return.

Yet they talked about the fey very rarely. They couldn’t risk being overheard, and anyway, it felt like a personal kind of pain, which would only burden Pike and Grog. Vex was especially hesitant to bring more worries to the tender heart of the deacon who already had so much on her plate.

“I’m certainly not saying that I think you were involved,” Pike said. “But I wondered if you might know anything about why they’re taking cattle. I wondered if you might have any insight. These- these are desperate times.”

Vex’s eyes filled with tears, to see her friend so distraught.

“I’m so sorry, Pike,” she said. “I don’t know anything. We haven’t visited our father since Highsummer.”

Pike nodded, accepting her word.

“Okay,” she said, head lowered in sadness. “A pity.”

“But, Pike, I’ll scout with you, if you want. We can check the border of the forest, at least, and see if there are any clues. We can look for tracks and work out where the fey are slipping through.”

Pike’s head shot up. Hope entered her eyes again.

“You think it would help?”

“There _are_ effigies that can keep out the fey, at the right times of the moon cycle,” Vex said. “They- they don’t tell me everything about their magic yet, because we haven’t joined them wholeheartedly, but I know some things keep them away. Let’s see if we can work out some protections.”

So they gathered some supplied, armed themselves, and walked off into the woods.

Under dappled light flickering in the rising sun, the two girls wove between trees and checked for tracks among bracken and leafy mulch, until they reached one of the Faerie Forest boarders. That area was markedly different from the rest of the forest, in that way that no one could define, yet everyone could sense.

The bordering trees were marked with symbols too, their branches dripping with tokens from generations of people trying to keep themselves safe.

Vex and Pike tracked along that boundary and found no signs of the fey crossing over. Vex couldn’t help feeling some relief, for this was the line in the east, where the Court of Syngorn lay, and she had been hoping that her fahter’s people weren’t responsible for this havoc.

So they turned north and headed toward the Briarwood.

By this time, the sun was climbing higher overheard, and they began to grow hungry. They stopped by an outcrop of rock to eat lunch—strips of meat wrapped in waxed paper and a good hunk of bread from Pike’s satchel.

“Pike?” Vex said quietly, as they ate, her feet nudging aside a stone covered in moss. “Does Percy really hate the fey so much?”

Pike looked at her perceptively. Sometimes her gaze seemed to cut right to a person’s soul. Vex almost shivered.

“I think he does,” she said, because she could be counted on for honesty. “I’m sorry.”

“It makes sense,” Vex said. “They slaughtered his family.”

“But it saddens you?” Pike asked.

“Yes.”

“Because you like him?”

“Yes.”

A silence stretched as Pike considered the situation.

“He’s going through a lot of grief,” she said. “But I don’t think he’s a lost cause. People have the capacity for change. Always. They have the chance for redemption.”

Vex glanced at the holy symbol hanging around Pike’s neck.

“But would he ever give me that chance?”

Pike reached out and squeezed her hand.

“You’re remarkable, Vex’ahlia. You’ve been making the right choices through pain and temptation. Your good heart will lead you to wonders you never imagined. I know it will.”

“I wish I had your stubborn faith, darling,” Vex laughed.

“For now, I’ll just have to believe for you.”

“For me, and Vax, and Percy?” she asked. “You carry a lot of weight.”

“I’m strong,” Pike grinned. “I can handle it.”

Vex leaned her head against her shoulder for a while, accepting the comfort. When they finished eating, they moved on without the need for words. Eventually, they found the jagged edges of the Briarwood. They skirted a circle of fungi and followed a line of gnarled trees swamped in bracken.

“Look!” Vex gasped, pointing. “There! A track!”

Pike came to peer at the gaps between the thorny bushes, hand tight on her weapon, ready for trouble.

“So, they’re coming from the north,” she said.

Vex nodded.

“From the Briarwood.”


	4. depths of the forest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here we go again, with more angst, hope you have fun! i deeply appreciate all your comments!!

**Waxing crescent, three hours after dusk.**

Percy snuck out of the house as soon as Keyleth went to bed. She was a light sleeper, so he had to be careful. He stepped in shadows, breath shallow, and crept away through the orchard, dark cloak pulled up around his ears, hiding the shine of moonlight from his hair.

He took the most direct route through the woods, according to his notes, which he had revised with precision over the last few days. Every morning, he’d been waking to more news of missing cattle. Though the numbers never reached the peak they had at new moon (twenty-two creatures on the final count), they were still devastating for the region, with its small, isolated population. Losing only one cow could ruin the livelihood of an entire family. 

So Percy had made his plan.

He took out his notebook then, peering close at the page in the darkness, trying to make out the deep lines he’d dug with his pen. He worked out that he should follow the branch of the stream to the right, and started off again.

Something snuffled in the bushes.

 _A fox,_ he told himself, _or a mouse. A night-time creature. Nothing more._

But he hurried his steps. The wind whistled louder through the next copse of trees, sending whispers through the leaves. Percy sped up and stopped when he reached a large oak, using it as his marker to turn and follow the next path.

At last, he found it. The faerie circle.

It had existed for two generations in this spot. According to the records, it had once been made of daises, then developed moss, then rows of fungi. Now, tree roots were slinking in, following the edges of a hidden magical curve.

The trees here were covered with talismans. Of course, all the edges of the Faerie Forest were somewhat guarded, the boundary treated like a wall that might be jumped over at any time. But actual faerie circles were more like gateways. They were well-trodden paths where time was tricky and people might actually see the fey—where unaware wanderers could even stumble into the centre of the faerie world.

Percy was not unaware. But he hoped that wouldn’t hinder things too much.

He took a quick breath and slid a hunting knife from his pocket. It was one of Vex’s. He had taken it from outside her house, where she set up a row on an old stump, ready to sharpen them. He hoped she wouldn’t mind him borrowing it.

It felt a little awkward in his sweaty hand, but he shook his shoulders back, and stepped over the outer edge of the faerie circle.

At first, he thought nothing had changed. The forest remained dark and unremarkable, clouds just peeking out between branches overhead, trunks rising endless in front of him. Around his toes, the fungi spread, entwining itself with curling roots.

“‘Evening, pretty boy.”

Percy whirled around.

Behind him, leaning up against the very edge of the faerie circle he just stepped over, something had joined him. Someone?

It was a small man, smirk on his face, arms crossed. He stood barely higher than Percy’s knee, but had the kind of presence that made him take up space. Brown hair woven back in a ponytail, bright grin with a gap between his front teeth. And the ears. They were pointed and orientated sideways, different from human ears. But different from faerie ears as well.

“You’re a gnome,” said Percy.

Too late, he wondered if it would be offensive to guess the species wrong.

“And you’re a human,” the gnome said. “A little impersonal, don’t you think? Why don’t you give me your name?”

But there was power in a name. Percy drew himself up to his full height.

“Why don’t you give me yours?”

The gnome laughed.

“So you’re _that_ sort,” he said, looking disappointed.

“What sort?” Percy asked.

“The sort who’s seeking out the fey to gain insight to something. To get your burning questions answered.” He sighed. “As opposed to someone searching for a little fun.”

“Fun?” Percy asked.

The gnome looked him pointedly up and down.

“ _Fun,”_ he emphasised, with very clear inflection. “Anyway, I’m a lure—I mean, a guide around these parts. Hence me waiting here.” He waved a hand at the shape of the faerie circle. “Which is shit, because there’s a party on tonight. Hey! Now that you’re here, I’ll take you in, and maybe I can linger for a bit. Who do you seek?”

“I don’t know.”

“Oh,” the gnome looked surprised. “You seemed so purposeful. Had the scent of a… never mind.”

“Scent?”

“I’ll just take you to my boss.”

“Wait,” Percy said, with a fresh flutter of fear. He’d almost forgotten, faced with the bizarre forwardness of this new creature, the dangers that lay in wait. “Who is your boss? What court does he work for?”

“Lord Syldor. Court of Sygorn. That’s where this gateway comes through. Don’t tell me you haven’t even researched that much.”

“I have. But you can never be too careful.”

“Huh. I suppose. Anyway, you can call me Burt Reynolds. Think up a fake name while we walk. I can help you think of something appropriately dashing…”

…

Another day, another party. The glamour and spectacle of faerie events was starting to feel almost commonplace, as the years went by. Vex had spent most of her night swirling through the dance floor, first with her brother, then with a couple of other faeries. It was a moment of escapism—where small talk wasn’t required. But it didn’t feel as fun as it used to, now that she knew what it felt like to dance with Percy.

That was foolish thought, she decided. It could come to nothing.

Her feet were starting to ache. She’d come to the party on the back of a day of hunting. So she wandered off to find something to eat.

Vex loved fey food, for both its flavour and its abundance. The idea of living in such daily luxury was part of the reason she wanted to stay. She plucked plump berries from a tray and dipped them in fresh honey, savouring the sweetness. Trinket approached, from where he’d waited by the edge of the dance floor, and she spooned a lavish portion into his mouth.

That was another thing she liked here; her bear was always accepted. He drew no odd glances nor moments of fear. There were plenty of other forest creatures around as well.

“Vex’ahlia,” someone said.

She turned, finding herself face-to-face with one of her father’s pixie messengers, trailed by Vax already. She exchanged a look with her brother. They both preferred chatting with Scanlan, but apparently the gnome was on duty today.

“Follow me,” the pixie said, turning up their nose and spinning on their heel.

Vex fell into step beside Vax. They wove across the party to the high table where Syldor was sitting. Vex’s shoulders began to grow tense, but she scanned the area, and saw that the main source of her worry had not yet arrived.

“Ah, my children,” Syldor said, gesturing to spare seats. “Please sit.”

Vex was so sick of his distant politeness. She sat.

“You have brought your bear,” Syldor said, nodding to Trinket. “You have a true connection to creatures of the forest.”

Vex bristled at the very idea of Trinket being likened to the fey. But she held her tongue.

“The Queen is dancing right now,” Syldor continued. “She will speak of the Harvest Moon later and open the floor for hunters to approach. Vex’ahlia, do you still wish to be among them?”

Vax was very still. Vex resisted looking at him.

“I do,” she said softly.

“Then you will speak with the Queen?”

“I will.”

Syldor smiled. Vex had only seen that kind of real happiness on his face, directed at her, two times before.

“I am so pleased,” he said. “It will be a relief to feel like my children are a part of my world.”

Vex felt her brother’s sad eyes on the side of her face. The blame in Syldor’s words punched deep into her chest. He spoke as if it was _her_ fault that they had not yet joined the court. As if all the pressure of repairing their broken bond fell solely on her shoulders. As if he hadn’t _made_ her a changeling.

The seconds trickled by, and she couldn’t summon speech.

“Shall we call for wine?” Syldor asked, oblivious.

“Sure.”

They drank in silence. It was a bitter brew, containing the darkest flavours one could find in the Court of Syngorn, which usually favoured the bright and the sweet. Vex’s eyes kept skirting the dance floor.

She was thinking about commitment, and she knew Vax wanted to talk about it too, though he wouldn’t speak here, where anyone could hear them.

Yet without words, Vex knew that tonight would be her first _real_ step into the future. She would walk up to the Queen and offer her services. She would gain a place among the hunters. Then, later, she would join them in their ceremonial hunt. When the golden doe was captured, she would move into a home in the court. And, last of all, she would accept the final binding offered to her. The one which would keep her forever.

She refilled her cup and turned back to her father, asking him a question about the home he had set aside for her and Vax—anything to distract from her inner panic.

…

Percy was overwhelmed. He followed Burt right to the edges of the faerie party and stopped to take it in. He saw the amused look on the little gnome’s face, but he ignored it, enraptured.

The colours were spectacular, all running alongside each other in perfect harmony. There were lights as bright as stars strung across the trees, with others floating in the air. The tents and tables at the edges of the dance floor were formed by such remarkable craftsmanship they were almost unbelievable.

And the crowd. Percy hung back not just from awe, but from fear as well.

Everyone’s ears were pointed—from the long tips of the faeries, to the smaller flick of the gnomes, to the strange, animal-like curve of some creatures that Percy couldn’t identify. They looked unearthly and dangerous. A warning to any human with sense.

“You okay?” Burt asked.

“I…” Percy shook his head.

“Come on,” he sounded oddly gentle, joking evaporating now. “I’ll take you to my boss and you can ask whatever questions you have. He won’t want too much in exchange.”

“I don’t want- look, let me watch. Let me watch the party for a while.”

“You’re not a very effective spy,” his guide warned. “They knew you were here the moment you stepped beyond the forest boundaries.”

Percy gaped at him.

“How?”

“Trees talk. Birds. All sorts of eyes on you.”

“Fuck.”

“Do you want to leave?”

“No,” Percy said. “I’ll stand here. I’ll watch. You can go.”

“But I—”

“You said you wanted to enjoy the party. Enjoy it.”

Burt watched him for a moment.

“Okay,” he said, bewildered. “You’re strange, for a human. I’ll come back later, to take you home. If that’s what you want…”

 _Never trust the fey,_ Percy’s mind whispered to him.

“Sure,” he said, guarded. “I’ll be here.”

For a while, he did stay. He watched the swirling colours and the dancing. A few times, one of the creatures looked in his direction. Once, the vivid light of a little sprite drifted near to his face, scampering away when he glanced directly at it. Three or four faeries even drifted closer and attempted to beckon him in. He remembered Burt telling him that some humans came here for “fun,” and realised they were gauging his response, seeing if he was seeking the pleasure of their company.

He overheard some conversations too. They talked about him like he wouldn’t understand—like his consciousness wasn’t on the same level as their own.

“He might be in love,” one of them mumbled to a friend. “He looks purposeful. Not just here for a fling.”

“Pity,” their companion answered. “He’s attractive.”

“In a waifish sort of way.” They sniffed. “Not my type. What’s the point of a human without a little extra flesh?”

“ _I_ like him. Pity he does seem to be attached.”

“Actually,” the second faerie said, stepping closer to Percy, while he tried desperately to ignore them. “You can smell some fey mark on him.”

“Oh, true!” the other said. “It’s stronger up close. A pity.”

“Come on, you’ll find plenty of people to fuck down in the springs later…”

And off they walked, still talking with a detachment that chilled Percy to the core.

He shifted awkwardly. His worries were growing. There seemed a greater chance, as the minutes ticked by, that some fey creature or another might try to speak to him. And worse was their mention of a smell on him. He wondered if it was a mark left when his family died. A mark of the Briarwood.

He would have asked them to explain, but everyone knew faeries expected payment in exchange for worthy answers. And besides, they had made him so uncomfortable.

 ** _Percival,_** someone whispered.

Percy felt the hairs raise on the back of his neck. The voice came from the trees beside him, not from the party. And worse, he knew the tone and timbre, though he had only heard it once.

He turned.

**_Percival Fredrickstein von Musel Klossowski de Rolo the third._ **

A figure waited in the shadows, so deep beneath the branches of the golden elm that the edges of its body weren’t quite defined, as though it might be made of shadow and smoke. Any features on the darkened face were impossible to distinguish. Yet Percy felt, for the first time, that there was something almost bird-like in the way the stranger held its shoulders.

His heart began to thunder in his chest, panic clutching him. He knew this was the being from his dream. He knew, suddenly and forcefully, that he was about to be haunted by a decision made in the grasp of deep desperation.

“What do you want?” he asked, voice strangled and shocked.

 ** _I didn’t expect to see you so soon,_** he said, **_but it is nice to know your interest in the fey has remained._**

“Interest?” Percy spat the word, anger ignited in a single second.

**_Hatred._ **

“Yes.”

They stared at each other.

**_A promise is a promise, Percival. I will still guide you in the ancient ways, and help you destroy your enemies. I will wait until you are ready._ **

“You don’t strike me as a patient type.”

A dark laugh.

**_I am. You don’t know how long I’ve waited for you._ **

Percy felt a shiver run across him again.

“Well, I’m ready now. I want to know how to destroy them. I’ve been researching. I- that’s why I came here. To see if I could sneak through the lines. To see what they do out here, in the forest. To find out why- why they’re taking things.”

**_Taking things?_ **

“Cattle have been going missing. My friend was taken too.”

The shadowed figure shifted, as though troubled.

**_I’m sorry to hear it. They extend too far, these fey._ **

It was the validation Percy wanted. He drunk it in—let it fill him up and set him aflame. He stepped closer, fists clenched.

“Then tell me how to stop them.”

**_I cannot yet. I have little power here._ **

“But—”

**_Listen, Percival. Come to me on the dark of the moon, when the unseelie have power over these weak courts of mischief and laughter. My name is Orthax. Call for me, and I will come to you._ **

“Orthax,” Percy echoed. “On the dark of the moon. I will.”

**_Good._ **

And Orthax spun away between the shadowed tree trunks, quickly vanishing from sight.

Percy’s pulse still beat a vicious tempo against his ribs. He clutched his chest. Reality sank over him too fast.

All the fey had sensed some mark on him. Smelled it. And now he knew exactly what it was. Not the Briarwood, but the deal he had made. The foolish, unbreakable bond he had forged.

But he couldn’t turn back now. And at least, this way, he would get what he wanted. He would get what he _needed_.

Percy stalked along the side of the gathering, too restless to stay still. Now that he’d been shocked to the core with fear, he was letting other anxieties creep in. He wondered what the fuck he’d been thinking, coming here, like some righteous hero in a folktale, thinking he would solve the mystery of the vanishing cattle, or find Kima, or somehow do something useful.

He was so out of his depth. Everything was harder than it seemed in the heat of passion. He wondered if he could even find his way back to the human world. The paths out of these places were said to be bendy and riddled with turns and warped planes of reality.

As he walked through the shadows, he found less attention directed his way, as if the celebration was sweeping all the fey up in its excitement, and they no longer had eyes for him.

Then he smelled it.

A sort of cinnamon, cloves, cooked apple kind of smell. Something buttery and rich. It launched him backward through a swampy dirge of memory.

_They weren’t supposed to use the parlour unless entertaining guests. But Johanna simply loved the paintings in there. So, sometimes, when the house was quiet, and they had a morning all to themselves, she would convince their father to bend the rules a little. He was never good at resisting her._

_They would carry in pillows and blankets and make a mound beside the fire. The children would curl up, and bicker only a little, and sit in each other’s laps with books to read and quiet conversation passed around. Sometimes, Julius would play the piano, and convince his brothers and sisters to sing, Oliver’s angelic voice rising to the eaves of the room. Sometimes, Vesper would weave one of her long, complicated stories._

_And Johanna and Frederickstein would cook something. They rarely bothered with the kitchen, having so many servants in the house, so their repertoire was limited. They always reproduced the same recipe: a buttery, rich pastry, layered over and over, surrounding a warm filling of cooked apple, mixed up with wintry spices, and doused in brown sugar._

_Percy would hold his parcel of warm sweetness carefully in one hand, trying not to spill the filling on his book. He savoured it, unlike Whitney and Ludwig, who were always done in mere seconds. Sometimes, he even got an extra bite, when Cassandra inevitably became too full to finish hers._

_He loved it there, surrounded by cheerful voices, warmed by golden flames, with the distant sound of sleet hitting the windows, and the vague chill from the cracks in the frame offset by their cosy house._

_He loved the sight of his siblings, all piled together, doing their own things in such carefree comfort. Free, for once, from the stuffier aspects of noble life. He loved watching his parents, no weight on their shoulders, sharing gentle glances, backed by his mother’s favourite painting. A rolling ocean with a hint of magic in the way the setting sun caught the edges of the waves. Blue licked through with gold._

_He basked in the embrace of cinnamon and sugar, licking flaky crumbs from his fingers._

Percy had followed the smell without even deciding to do so. He found himself standing beside a table, laden with delicious food.

His eyes went wide. There were stuffed wild boars and beds of greens with crispy brown nuts. There were lovely cheeses, and paper-thin roots swirled into the shapes of roses. There were strange formations of honeyed fruit he had never seen before. And there was something utterly, undeniably _magic_.

A plate of apple pastries, which looked exactly like the ones his parents used to make.

There was no mistaking them. They were unrefined and misshapen, some burst along their seams. But they were perfect. The most tempting thing he could imagine. Without a thought in his head, Percy reached out.

He heard a low growl. Felt something nudge his side. A long, clawed paw reached out, slamming down, trapping his hand against the table.

A bear!

He froze. The creature was immense, looking up at him with deep brown eyes, as if scolding him. And, suddenly, Percy thought he had seen those eyes before.

“Trinket?” he whispered.

Trinket flicked an ear, as if acknowledging the name.

Percy’s head snapped up. His eyes darted around the party, looking for the person who always accompanied this bear. And, sure enough, he found her.

Vex was sitting with her brother at a large, fancy table. She wore a clinging dress of regal, blue fabric, falling open up the side of one thigh. Her hair was in its usual braid. Her dark eyes were unmistakable. But there was something different about her now. Her face was glowing softly in the light. Her ears were long and pointed. When someone got up from her table, and she bid them farewell, there was a flash of sharp teeth in her mouth.

She was a faerie.

As if sensing his gaze, she looked up. And Percy couldn’t breathe.

…

Vex thought, for a moment, that her mind had somehow summoned his likeness. Because Percy simply _couldn’t_ be standing there, in the Court of Syngorn. He simply could _not._

But as she blinked, his image didn’t dissipate. His eyes were locked on her.

“Oh shit,” she muttered. “This is real.”

“What?” Vax asked.

She didn’t bother speaking. He followed her gaze.

“Fuck,” he said.

Their secret was blown. Percy had seen them, with the veil of their disguises drawn thin by the Faerie Forest.

And, considering his history with the fey, there was no way this could turn out well.

“I’ll talk to him,” Vex said, trying not to sound scared. “I’ll talk to him.”

“He’s dangerous,” Vax protested.

“All the more reason to speak to him now,” she snapped. “Before the problem exacerbates.”

Her brother reached for his drink and drained the last of it. She stood, leaving him behind, walking across the floor to Percy. The whole time, his eyes never shifted from her face.

As she came closer, she realised his hand was stretched toward the table. Trinket’s large paw was resting over him, stopping him from grasping hold of the food on the platter before him. With a glance, she understood. The plate held pomegranates, charmed to tempt all humankind. Sudden frustration welled within her, to see him moments from such a foolish choice, falling for a lure that everyone in the damn region knew they should avoid.

“Don’t eat the food,” she told him. “Percy, my goodness, do you know nothing? Don’t _ever_ eat the food.”

He drew his hands back to his sides. They squeezed into fists.

“You’re a faerie,” he said, tone dripping accusation so strong it stung.

Vex barely managed to stop herself from flinching. Her gaze flickered. She cast her eyes down.

“Everyone already says I am,” she mumbled. “Haven’t you heard?”

His devastation was clear, even in her periphery.

“No,” he said. “Is- is that why they all look at you like that? With such worry and- and suspicion? They _know?_ ”

“They suspect,” she corrected.

“But they’re _right._ ”

Percy stepped back, raking his hands through his hair. Finally, Vex looked up at him again, biting her lip, trying to read him. She had no idea what he would do next. If he attacked her here, he would be killed instantly. If he told the villagers, they would kill her, and then the fey would come for them. It would spark a war like no other.

“Pelor above, Vex, how are you still in the village?” He looked at her beneath his hands. “How are you _alive?_ ”

The question struck her. She couldn’t work up an answer.

“If everyone suspected,” Percy continued. “Wouldn’t your mother have drowned you both? Abandoned you in the woods? That’s the tradition, right? It keeps the faeries from infiltrating our world. Why did you live?”

Vex weighed his words, trying to find a single thread of compassion. She thought she saw a chance for it, in his natural curiosity, beneath his pain and feelings of betrayal.

“My mother,” she said. “My mother kept us alive.”

“Why?”

“She loved us.”

And, suddenly, tears were spilling down Vex’s cheeks. Percy looked stricken. He had been pulled up short. His hand twitched, like he might reach out.

“She knew her children were dead already, by the time she noticed the change in the babies she was caring for. She knew she had lost them. So she grieved for them, but she also took care of us. In her eyes, we were as vulnerable and precious as any other baby. We were all she had left. So, she loved us.”

Even as she said the words, Vex felt drowned by their impossibility. It was so simple, yet so complicated—her mother’s defiant empathy.

“Just like that?” Percy asked.

“It’s who she was. She looked for the good in things. She _believed_ there was good in things.”

Vex reached up, brushing away her tears. She cleared her throat.

“Percy, I understand that you hate the fey, and I- I know what they cost people. I know what they take from people.”

“They killed your mother.”

“Yes,” she admitted.

“Then how can you stand here with them?”

There was horror on his face. She wasn’t explaining herself properly.

“No! I- it wasn’t these ones. There are from a different court. I would never…”

“They’re all the same,” Percy said. His eyes were so hard. “Barbaric. Evil.”

“They’re not. I know. Because _I’m_ not.”

Percy turned away. She reached out, fingers catching his arm, brushing against the soft skin of his wrist. She could feel his heartbeat.

“Percy, please,” she said. “You’re walking down a dark path. Don’t be consumed by it.”

But her plea felt hopeless. Her timing felt wrong.

“I can’t talk to you.”

“You can,” she said. He still hadn’t left her grip. “Darling, don’t wear a mask with me.”

He turned back, fury flaring briefly in his eyes. He looked at her ears.

“Like the mask you wore with me?” He pulled free of her grip. “Take your own advice, Vax’ahlia.”

And he stomped off into the crowd.

Vex’s heart cried out for him. Despite the confusion churning in her gut, she knew he was in danger right now. He wasn’t thinking. He needed help.

“Scanlan?” she whispered.

In a second, the gnome appeared at her side, summoned. His shirt had lost buttons. She hoped he wasn’t drunk.

“Follow him. Guide him safely home.”

He took her in, and his gaze grew tender.

“I will, Vex. You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

But she knew that might not be true. She knew her future depended on the strange, angry young man who had somehow become important to her.

…

The gnome appeared at his side while he trailed back through the woods.

“You’re going the wrong way,” he said.

Percy halted. Spun back to him, glasses glinting in the moonlight and hiding the fury in his eyes.

“I can get myself out,” he spat. “This way is west.”

“Normally, sure.” The gnome actually looked concerned. “But time doesn’t work the same in these parts of the forest. If you continue down the straight path, minutes will stretch into hours, then hours to days, then days to weeks. You need a guide to take you out.”

Percy scoffed, partly to conceal his embarrassment. He wasn’t sure what had come over him, to think he should go looking for faeries. The news about Kima had really shaken him. It had made him rash.

And now his whole life had changed, two times over.

“And I should trust you?” he asked.

“Ah,” Burt looked troubled. He scuffed a foot along the ground. “I suppose you wouldn’t.”

“So you see, we’re at a checkmate.”

Burt watched him for a moment. He maintained his sort of ruffled, roguish air, with his purple puffed sleeves and unbuttoned front and the fresh wine stain on his pants—the kind of person who oozed charisma and engaged in all the pleasures of life. But there was something else there. A hesitant vulnerability that looked fresh. A real earnest desire to _prove_ something.

“My name is Scanlan,” the gnome said at last.

Percy raised his brows.

“Really,” Scanlan said. “It’s my real name. It gives you power over me. Here, look, I’ll walk away. When you need me, call out, and I’ll be summoned. You’ll see.”

Before Percy could say a word, he turned heel and marched off into the forest. With surprisingly swiftness, he vanished among the trees.

Percy glanced back to the path he’d been following. He had been so sure it was the right way. He looked up and found the moon and constellations in the sky, trying to remember his maps, and knew he _was_ going west. But if the gnome was right, and reality was warped, he wouldn’t get out with his own wits.

He stalked forward a few steps. Stopped.

There _was_ power in a name. He knew that much from meeting Orthax. He may as well test it.

“Scanlan?”

In a flash of purple light, the gnome reappeared at his side. He looked nearly as surprised as Percy felt.

“Oh,” he said. “You decided to trust me.”

“That’s stretching it,” Percy said. “Trust is a strong word.”

“But you’ll follow?” Scanlan said.

“Lead the way.”

The guide turned south instead and marched along until they came to a small, rushing stream. Then he instructed Percy to walk right up against the bank. He kept glancing furtively around.

“Why do you look nervous?” Percy asked, stopping suddenly.

Scanlan chuckled.

“I wasn’t in the habit of helping humans,” he said.

“Past tense?”

“Well, some new friends of mine changed things,” Scanlan said. “By the looks of it, you know them too. Vex and Vax. They speak like no other faeries do.”

Heat rose to Percy’s face at the mere mention of the twins. He didn’t want to speak of them. He didn’t want to reveal his own attachment—the blossoming friendship, the attraction to Vex, the sharp sting of what he’d discovered that night.

“They are unique,” he allowed.

“Most of the fey are just alive to have fun,” Scanlan continued. “Life is light and pleasurable. We don’t have to worry about moral quandaries and mortal consequences.” He sighed. “But Vex and Vax _care._ They told me how humans think. It…”

He trailed off suddenly, cleared his throat.

“Not that it changed me much,” he said with a quick wink. “I’m still out for a good time. But I appreciate them.”

“Typical faerie,” Percy said, without quite as much of his usual resentment.

“I’m a gnome, thank you very much,” Scanlan laughed. “Anyway, I’m not really built for the deep and meaningful. I’m not looking for friends.”

“Yeah,” Percy muttered softly. “Me neither.”

They walked on in silence, but he tried to watch his guide out of the corner of his eye. It would have been impossible to tell that Scanlan was lying, saying he didn’t want friends, if it wasn’t for the fact that Percy was repeating the same lies to himself.

Strange, to see even a sliver of kinship in a fey creature.

…

**Waxing crescent, dawn**

Percy tossed restlessly in bed, legs tangled in his sheets. His pupils moved behind his eyelids. His lips opened and whimpered in distress. He was dreaming…

_He stood in the midst of the swirling dance floor in the world of the fey. All around him, the moving creatures were a blur, out-of-focus. Yet ahead, in sharp clarity, he saw her._

_Vex’ahlia turned toward him. She wore the blue dress he had seen her in last night, delicate and clinging, a long slit cut up her thigh. Her hair was braided down her back, swinging as she spun. Her features were fey. Long pointed ears. Glowing skin. A glint of sharp teeth against her full lips. But her expression was different—rather than surprise, she smirked at the sight of him._

_She began to wind her way through the crowd. He tried to back away, frightened by the amusement and callousness in her eyes, but he found himself rooted to the spot._

_She spread her hands, and for the first time, he saw that she held something: fruit, split down the middle. He barely recognised it as a pomegranate, which featured more in stories than in local cuisine, but it enchanted him instantly. Each round half nestled neatly in Vex’s palm. Scarlet beads of flesh sparkled within the segments._

_“Percy,” she said. “You came.”_

_“Hello, Vex,” he choked out._

_“You can’t stay away from me, can you?”_

_“What?” Percy shook his head. “No. I- I didn’t even know you were here. I wasn’t thinking about you.”_

_“But you are now,” she stepped so close, he could smell the rainy, outdoor smell clinging to her skin. “You’re thinking about me all the time.”_

_“I-I don’t—”_

_“Come on, darling, I can see how you feel about me.”_

_“How?”_

_“You were in the thralls of a spell, about to eat from the table. Only the possibility of my presence brought you out of it. Broke through the magic. Because you are more captivated by me than anything else.”_

_As she spoke, she leaned closer, until her breath was on his lips. Percy shut his eyes, but when he tried to control his breathing, he inhaled the smell of her again, and felt something come loose inside his head._

_He wouldn’t resist her, he knew. No matter what she did next._

_“Percy,” she whispered. “Look at me.”_

_His lashes fluttered open._

_“I’m a faerie, darling. So you need to decide what to do about it.”_

_“What do you mean?”_

_“Give me up,” she said. “Or bind yourself to me, and forget your revenge.”_

_Her words fell heavy on him, but he pushed against them, trying to remember what she’d said to him, in the_ real _version of this moment._

_“But you said it was more complicated than that. You- you said you were different from the fey that took my family.”_

_A flash of anger crossed her face._

_“Oh, Percy,” she said, harsh. “Did you really think it would be that easy?”_

_“But you said—”_

_“Trust me,” she interrupted. And her eyes were fathomless darkness._

_It that moment, it occurred to him that this version of her was too twisted. Worse than simple faerie. Reminding him of something else…_

_But as he grappled with his unconscious mind, her hand reached up, holding one half of the pomegranate. He heard echoes of voices, and saw words on pages:_ never trust a faerie, consuming fey delicacies will bind the hearts of humans, don’t _ever_ eat the food.

_And though the last warning had come from Vex herself, his dreaming body couldn’t seem to heed the warning._

_He leaned in. His hands came up to gently encircle her wrist, keeping her steady. His teeth sunk into gems of bright ruby, the sweet tang exploding over his tongue, spilling from the corner of his mouth. Vex smiled, eyes locked on his, as she watched him chew through seeds, experiencing flavour and texture he had never tried before._

_As he pulled back, she took her own bite, from the very same spot, and dropped the rest of the pomegranate on the ground._

_“Good boy,” she murmured._

_She reached up and ran her thumb over his lower lip, collecting the last of the sweet juice, like blood gathered from a wound._

Percy woke slowly, feeling like he was wading through the world of dreams to reach the surface. He blinked his eyes open in the usual brightness of his bedroom, and instantly swung his legs over the side of his bed.

He found Keyleth in the kitchen, cooking breakfast, but for once he didn’t want to join her. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to tell her about the twins yet. He was pretty certain she didn’t know—couldn’t know—that they were really fey. And yet he suspected she was more attached to Vax than she let on. He couldn’t stand being the one to tell her. He had to think about it first.

But he also felt the need to talk about it. He wanted to let out his frustration and confusion somehow.

So he thought of Pike and Grog. They had known the twins since they were children, so at least they would know the rumours, if not the reality of the situation. He made a weak excuse about heading to the library early and marched off down the hill.

As he approached the church, he found Pike already outside, bending down to weed the garden.

“Percy?” Pike said when she saw him. “You’re early.”

“I need to talk,” he said. “Is Grog here?”

She gauged his expression.

“Um, yes. Just a moment.”

She headed toward the graveyard, stopped abruptly, and turned back to Percy.

“Wait here,” she said.

And she vanished between the yew trees.

Percy paced while he waited, thoughts spinning faster, and making his temper rise the longer he was alone. When his friends reappeared at last, he practically dragged them to library.

“Vex and Vax are changelings, aren’t they?” he asked.

Pike and Grog stared back at him, blank faced and shocked, perched at their usual dusty little table, while Percy stood before them, hands resting on the grain of the wood. They certainly hadn’t been expecting _this._

“What makes you say that?” Pike said evenly.

“Have you been listening to talk?” Grog asked, brows knitting together. “All the bullshit from the village.”

“I saw them.”

Another silence, lengthy and charged.

“I saw them in the woods with the fey, _dancing_ at their party, with all their faerie features out in plain view, veil lifted.”

“Oh,” Pike said.

“Did you know?” Percy demanded.

They exchanged a glance. The answer was plain in Grog’s expression. They _knew._ They knew and they let two faeries roam the village, risking the lives of their people every single day.

“You _knew_ ,” said Percy.

“We, uh, well, it’s complicated,” Pike said. “Please sit down.”

Percy didn’t move.

“Sit down,” Grog snapped, annoyed.

Percy sat.

“You look angry,” said Pike.

“I am angry. I- you know what the fey _do._ How can I- how can I be okay with this?”

“Wait,” said Pike. “Start from the beginning for me. Tell me what you saw. Did you talk to the twins at all? How were you in a place where you could see the fey anyway?”

Percy let out a long breath, trying to calm himself. Then he told a short version of the story, stiff and uncomfortable. He explained how he’d gone seeking the fey, furious that Kima was missing. He explained a guide taking him to the party, left out the part about Orthax, and described his whole interaction with Vex, from the moment he first spotted her. He hoped they couldn’t see how pink his cheeks were getting.

When he finished, Pike looked sympathetic. Grog looked frustrated.

“So why didn’t you listen?” Grog asked.

“What?”

“When she told you they weren’t all the same?”

“Oh,” Percy said. “Because she’s _fey._ Because everyone knows how dangerous they are. Everyone’s been hearing it since childhood. We can’t trust them. We can’t let them speak to us. We- we’re told to report _any_ sightings.”

“You didn’t report them?” Pike gasped.

“No,” he said. “Not yet.”

“Please don’t,” she said. “Gods, Percy, there’s so much to talk about.”

“Then talk! Fuck, Pike, I’m trying to understand all this. I came here for a reason, rather than simply gathering a mob. I don’t _want_ to hurt them. I don’t know what to do.”

“Well, perhaps we can offer some insight.”

“Yeah,” Grog said. “You know, not all fey are dangerous.”

Percy let out a little laugh. He was surprised how emotional Grog looked about all this—like there was some obvious idea in his mind that Percy couldn’t grasp, and it made him angry.

“Really?” he asked scornfully.

“Yes!” Grog said. “Look, I’ve been stumbling into fey ever since I was a kid.”

“ _What_?”

“I get restless, being in one spot,” Grog continued. “I like adventures. So, I wander off. I’ve fell into bogs and been pulled out by pixies. I’ve accidentally crossed the edges of the forest and been brought back passing faeries. I’ve even… well, a gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell…”

Pike laughed, looking strangely light and fond, despite the fact that everything Grog spoke of would have been considered a betrayal by the village.

“He stumbled across a nymph on a winter pond,” she explained. “And came back grinning.”

“She was lovely,” Grog sighed.

Percy’s mouth was hanging open. They were so _casual_ about it. Like the Faerie Forest was simply another aspect of ordinary life. Like a nymph couldn’t have lured Grog close and pulled him beneath the ice.

He looked at Grog’s broad arms and remembered times when the man had lifted things that shouldn’t have been possible to lift. It was a strength of nearly inhuman proportion, especially on his diet of simple foods. It was as though he had received some kind of strength boon, like people got in stories, when they took faeries as lovers…

“And there’s more,” said Pike. “There are fey with gentle hearts, who resist the harsher ways of their people.”

She glanced out of the window, and quickly back to Percy.

“They come to the church,” she continued. “I first found one when I was fifteen, bent over at the end of the graveyard, praying to the little statue of Sarenrae by the fencepost. She was terrified, and curious, and kind. I spoke to her, and later, to many others. Sometimes they return.”

“You don’t report them?”

“No,” she said fiercely. “Never. They need my guidance just as much as anyone in the village. Perhaps more, considering the culture they grew up in. Some of them didn’t even know humans had _feelings_.”

“Huh.” Percy could hardly process it all. He remembered the strange way Pike had gone into the graveyard to get Grog, telling him not to follow. “Is there one out there now?”

Pike chewed her lower lip.

“There was,” she said. “A fairly new visitor. He’s very confused lately.”

“He’s sweet on Pike,” said Grog.

“Shh,” she waved a hand. “He’s just a flirt. It doesn’t mean anything. But I’ve been helping him. I won’t risk the lives of any of the fey who visit this church. It’s a safe space.”

Percy nodded slowly.

“Okay,” he said. “I can respect that.”

“And Vax comes here too,” she said. “He sits in the church, or by his mother’s grave, and he asks me questions about morality. He’s not… he’s not like a faerie in a tale, all cold and self-serving. I swear it, Percy. He cares. Vex does too.”

Percy dragged a hand across his face, feeling suddenly very tired. Sometime, while they’d been talking, the fire had died down within his belly. Things were turning upside down. Now he felt very alone and very lost. Like someone from the novels his mother used to read. A man standing in the middle of a moor, wind biting through his clothes, stumbling between dry heather, unable to find his way back to a familiar world.


	5. humans lost, humans found, humans irreversibly bound

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another chapter! keep the comments coming! also... check out the front of the prologue again to see the new village map

**Waxing Half-moon, midday.**

Vex waited all week for word to get out, expecting a mob to appear at her door, forcing the twins to flee into the trees. Yet nothing happened.

Her brother couldn’t keep still. He refused to travel, for fear of abandoning Vex to face backlash alone, but he moped because he missed Gilmore. He cleaned the house from top to bottom and tore out weeds in the garden. He spent hours pacing, frown deep in his face.

“I don’t trust Percy,” he told her. “If he causes your death…”

There was so much anger in his eyes.

“He won’t. Even if Percy tells someone, we’ll escape.”

“Hopefully,” Vax said grimly.

The only time he seemed willing to leave the house was when Keyleth turned up, basket on her arm, and asked if he wanted to forage in the woods with her. She did it at least four times that week. He returned lighter after every outing.

Strangely, Keyleth seemed to have no idea what Percy had discovered. She wasn’t treating the twins any different. She had always _suspected_ they had fey connections, but it still seemed unconfirmed for her. Vex wondered if that meant something. She wondered if Percy had decided to keep the secret to himself.

At the end of the week, Vax went out with Keyleth again, and Vex was home alone. She was going through their belongings, setting aside important things, in case they had to flee with little warning. She dug out the old jewellery box in the bedroom. Inside, there were only three things. A wedding ring which had belonged to her mother’s parents, who passed away long ago. A simple chain of brass with a glass bead hanging at the end. And a second ring…

She took it out and stared at it.

 _As time passed, Vex became more certain that she wanted to join the fey one day. Their world just offered so much, for both her and her brother. They could find jobs that placed little stress on their shoulders, they could live in a beautiful house their father would give them, and they could have access to actual_ magic.

_But at eighteen years old, she was still holding on to the human world, unsure why, exactly, things felt so unfinished there._

_“Good evening,” a low voice murmured._

_Vex turned, jerked back to the present._

_She was at one of the faerie parties, which she and Vax had been attending recently. Her brother was off on the dance floor, far away, but she hadn’t expected anyone to approach her. Most people didn’t bother to speak to the twins, and wouldn’t until they became official members of a court, with actual social standing._

_This man was tall, slender, and wore intricate clothing of woven vine and tree bark. His eyes glowed yellow and cat-like. His ears were longer than her father’s. Quickly, Vex realised that this was a higher kind of faerie. A glance at the bramble in his lapel, and she knew instantly—he was an archfey of the Briarwood._

_“Hello,” she said, summoning bravado._

_The man took that as an invitation to claim the seat beside her, where her brother had been. The air around him felt cool, somehow._

_“You are Vex’ahlia,” he said, and her name on his tongue sent a shiver up her spine. “I am Saundor.”_

_“A pleasure to meet you,” she managed._

_Her smiled, his sharp teeth gleaming._

_“You are beautiful,” he said. “Like starlight on the surface of a lake.”_

_Vex, despite herself, felt heat rise to her cheeks. She knew what she looked like, of course, but it was rare to have anyone say it so openly. It was rare to be approached at all._

_“Why do you blush?” he asked._

_“I’m unused to speaking with people here,” she admitted. “I’m a changeling.”_

_“Oh, I know.” He smiled. “I know a great deal about you, Vex’ahlia. I’m very interested in your transition to our world. You see, I have been lonely for a long time. I’m seeking the perfect partner. Someone whom I might understand. And you have potential.”_

_“I do?” she asked._

_Her heart was thundering in her chest. The way he looked at her made her feel thrilled and nauseous all at once._

_“We have much in common.”_

_That surprised her. She wasn’t sure how to respond, but, uncomfortable, she tried to brush him off. She didn’t think a stranger could really know her._

_“It may be some time before I join the fey, I’m afraid,” she said. “You shouldn’t put too much hope in me.”_

_His eyes flashed._

_“It’s rare that someone tells me what I should or should not do,” he said. “But I am patient, my dear. I don’t mind waiting.”_

_In her fright, she couldn’t speak. He took it as encouragement._

_“I can give you magic,” he continued. “Safety. Luxury. I can offer protection to your loved ones from the dangers of my court.”_

_But deals didn’t come so easily._

_“And what would you ask in return?”_

_“Your heart,” he said._

_His eyes bore into hers. Something in her rebelled. Didn’t want to give that part of herself away._

_“I will think on it,” she said instead._

_Saundor’s mouth twisted in frustration, but he nodded. He slid a ring from his finger, made from gold, with a gem of dried sap enclosing a small, blue flower, so dark an amber colour that it was almost black. He turned her palm upright, and pressed the piece of jewellery into it._

_“Don’t forget this conversation,” he said. “I want you.”_

_And he swept away in his cloak of vines, vanishing in the crowd._

_Vex’s heart was beating fast and fearful. She felt very young and small and delicate—vulnerable in a way she hadn’t been since the touch of a bow became familiar to her hand._

_She realised she didn’t know a thing about Saundor. Didn’t know how old he was or how powerful he was or what on earth made him think that he_ knew _her. She wondered, vaguely, if there had been any magic at work in the air around her, making her too bewildered to properly say “no.”_

_It scared her. But she looked at the ring in the palm of her hand, and felt she had no choice but to entertain the idea._

Vex spun the ring between her fingers now. She hadn’t seen Saundor often since, and dreaded his presence every time there was a party where fey from the Briarwood were invited. She kept expecting him to appear over her shoulder at any moment.

But she had adjusted, a little, to the idea of an engagement. Her father spoke highly of Saundor’s connections and explained that it would be difficult to turn down his advances. He also explained the power she would have if she married him. She would become a part of the upper echelons of the Briarwood court, involved in high level decision making. She would be connected and respected and a _part_ of something. It would be the “final binding” to fey society.

And the marriage might give her the power to protect her human friends—the people still tying her to the ordinary world in which she had grown up.

She slipped the ring onto her finger and tucked away the rest of the jewellery into an emergency bag.

And then someone knocked on the door.

Vex tensed up. She darted to the window, feet light, and peeked outside, hiding half her face behind the curtain to avoid being seen.

Percy was standing outside her door. He had a satchel slung over one shoulder and he shifted on nervous feet. His hair was slightly tousled. His eyes were sharp and bright. He looked alert, but he looked unhostile. All the breath came out of her.

She went to the door.

“Hello, Percy,” she said.

“Hello, Vex.”

For a long moment, they stared at each other. She drank in the sight, not having seen him since that surreal night in the Faerie Forest. She tried to gauge whether the permanent dark circles beneath his eyes had gotten any deeper.

“I came to give you something,” Percy said.

“Oh.”

He dug inside his bag, and revealed the long, glinting silver of a knife. A shock of fear ran through Vex’s body.

But then Percy grasped the knife by the blade. He picked it up gingerly, keeping it from biting into his palm, and extended it toward her, handle-first. The simplest sign of trust. Looking down at the smooth, dark wood, Vex suddenly recognised it. Carved with a feather along the handle. The knife was hers. Usually used to clean her kills after hunting.

She looked into his eyes, startled.

“It’s yours,” said Percy. “I borrowed it, I’m sorry, before I went into the forest. For protection.”

“I see,” she said. “Well, thanks for bringing it back.”

It was unnerving. She would have noticed something like that, usually, but with Percy discovering her true identity that day, she had been too panicked to notice. She’d just brought her weapons back inside and dumped them in a pile.

She reached for the knife now, grasping the handle, and waiting for Percy to release it, so it wouldn’t cut his hand. He held on for an endless moment, still looking into her eyes. Then, at last, he dropped it. Wiped his hand on his trousers.

She was so relieved she wanted to hold him—to drop her knife on the ground and sweep him into a warm embrace.

“Thank you,” she said again. “Not just for this. For not telling anyone—”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said.

“Okay.”

“I need time,” he said.

“Okay.”

And then Percy walked away.

…

**Full moon, two hours before midnight.**

The moon was full, and Percy was restless. He had been researching the lunar calendar lately, trying to prepare himself, in case he took Orthax up on the offer to meet him on the dark of the moon. Yet it had taken a while to find the right book, and once he had, it had been time to leave the library.

He figured he could go back tomorrow and sort it out, but now he couldn’t sleep. All he could think about was the tantalising end of the mystery—the words that might resolve all the lingering curiosity in his burning mind.

After turning over and over until his sheet came untucked and tangled in his legs, Percy gave up on sleep.

He snuck out again, and thought he managed even better than last time. Keyleth didn’t even stir when he passed the creaky plank outside her door. He pulled on his hooded cloak, to hide his hair, and stared up, for a moment, at the brilliant silver light of the moon overhead. The whole world was illuminated, sky clear, with long shadows cast over the landscape.

Percy walked slowly down the hill, admiring the sight, and then froze. There was movement ahead. He ducked behind a tree.

It was the twins. They wore long cloaks too, entirely covering whatever they had on underneath. Their identical faces, like two smaller bronze moons below the sky, were the only things that gave them away. Trinket walked at their side, sniffing out a path.

They were heading toward the Court of Frost. Percy frowned, and then, remembering the lunar calendar, figured out they must be heading to a fey celebration.

He watched from the shadows as they reached Whitestone stream. Vax leapt neatly across, but Percy saw Vex hesitant. She said something to Trinket, words catching on the breeze, about her dancing slippers and the muddy bank. And she reached her hand out to climb onto his back.

Percy looked at those lovely fingers, lit by the moonlight, and wondered what it would be like to take hold of them again, like he had when they were dancing.

So often, he was tempted to reach for her hand. He remembered a dozen other moments like this. A lingering glance between them in the marketplace, as he dropped a coin into her palm, trying not to let his skin touch hers, even though he craved the warmth. A brief hello before church on Sunday morning, when she dipped a quick bow, hands lifting the edge of her skirt. A brush of her fingers on his back when she needed to move past him in a crowd.

He had been spending time with her again lately, never one-on-one, though they often managed to snatch moments for themselves, in shared eye-contact and easily deciphered expressions. When she was around, he always forgot himself. He began to live with a kind of cognitive dissonance. Pretending the world of the fey didn’t exist. Pretending nothing existed beyond them, and their connection.

It disturbed him, how normal and easy it felt. Too often, he wanted her. Too deeply, he longed for her.

His breath left him in a desperate, lonely sigh. Vex’s head snapped up. Her eyes spun quickly across the darkness surrounding her, and though Percy attempted to blend with the tree trunk, her stare locked directly onto his.

Her first instinct was to raise an eyebrow, amused and smirking. But he saw the flicker of worry that followed it. It must look like he’d been following her.

His heart was thundering now. He should have guessed that she might notice him. She was observant in a way few others were. Her sharp eyes were ever-watchful, always attentive to the finest detail. It was one of the things he admired so much about her.

Now a question floated in the night air between them, a shudder of uncertainty through the spider-silk thread of their tentative trust.

He raised his book bag, and jerked a thumb in the directed of the church, hoping she would understand he was aiming for the library. Her shoulders lost a little of their tension. She made a face and flicked back the edge of her cloak, so he could see the dress she wore, indigo, plunging, and cinched at the waist. Her communication was clear; she had her own boring duties to attend.

Percy smiled.

“Vex?” Vax called across the stream, from where he had almost reached the edge of the trees. “What’s taking so long?”

She rolled her eyes at Percy one last time, and climbed onto Trinket’s back. He carried her across the water, sure and steady, and Percy watched her until she vanished in the forest.

He cleared his throat and shook himself. In the ease of their communication, he had forgotten, once more, that he was meant to be building his walls up. He was meant to be detaching himself so that he could achieve his goals. His hand tightened on the strap of his book bag, and on he went.

The church looked stunning in the full moon. Its arch of glass and gilded spires, designed to look like the rising sun, caught light at beautiful angles, rebounding it outward, calling people home to the promise of a new dawn.

Percy had seen it in the sun hundreds of time. He had never considered how it would look at night, all ethereal and opalescent. For the first time, he could understand why Pike’s fey visitors might see some appeal in this homely, human place. It looked more like a gateway now, between one world and another. Rows of tombstones and walls of stone echoed centuries of prayer and praise and pleading.

He took a breath, walking forward. The dusty window of the library was around the northern edge, but he had to be careful, for the priest and the deacons had rooms at the back of the building. As he considered his approach, he heard voices again.

Without the delightful distraction of Vex’ahlia, he found himself frowning. It seemed like everyone had decided to wake up and walk around tonight.

He approached the back of the church, from where the voices were drifting. He spotted Pike first, with her dark hair, and palette of pale blue and gold, sitting in the graveyard. But beside her was a shorter, smaller sort of creature. Brown hair tried back, clothes of purple. And pointed ears.

Percy shrank back in instinctual fear.

And then the creature turned, just enough for the edge of his profile to come into view under the moonlight. And Percy recognised Scanlan. His mouth dropped open. He kept his eyes fixed on them, trying to hear what they were saying. It sounded soft and gentle and full of musing. Pike was describing the redemption of Sarenrae, and explaining what prayer was. Scanlan was watching her as if she was a form of worship in herself.

Percy chewed on his lip for a moment, wondering what it would be like to live with such faith—to hear of redemption, having spent your whole life luring mortals to the fey world, and to have the courage to embrace it. He remembered his moment of kinship with Scanlan in the forest, and despite himself, he hoped the little gnome was healing here. Or, even better, improving as a person.

He shook his head and backed away. The windows in the church were dark, so he figured the other deacon and Father Wilhand were both asleep. He hoped Pike was being careful not to wake them, when she let her strange guests visit.

Then he nudged open the window to the library, its old frame creaking a little, but giving way easily. It left just enough space for him to slide his slender body through.

Percy ran his fingertips along the shelves, which were far less dusty now, trails left by the books he regularly removed. He wiped a thumb down one edge, hoping to muddy any traces of what he was seeking, wondering why he hadn’t been more careful before.

Then he found the book he wanted: _Dusk and Dawn: the tremulous relationship between Faeries and the realm of the Faithful._

He slipped the heavy tome into his bookbag and crept back out of the church.

It didn’t take long to get home from there. Keyleth woke upon his distracted, messy entrance, and he called out an excuse about going to the bathroom, apologising for making noise. He returned to his room.

Then he spent most of the night pouring over the book. The more he learned, the more he felt uplifted, buoyed by the power of knowledge. He _knew_ he could be well prepared. He _knew_ he could meet Orthax, and keep himself safe, and take his own advantages on the dark of the moon. It had to work out.

…

Vex’s heart was all aflutter, and she scolded herself. One glimpse of Percy in the dark, and she behaved like a giddy teenager.

She had to keep more focused. As the Harvest Moon drew closer, she was getting near to joining the Court of Sygorn—to officially becoming a woman betrothed, and likely very soon after, a woman married.

She glanced at Vax, so willing to follow whatever path was laid out in front of him. But she felt increasingly guilty about him these days. She saw how he lit up around Keyleth. She saw how he yearned for Gilmore. She wondered if taking him away from those things was too horribly selfish, and yet, she knew there would be no way to convince him to leave her side.

“What’s wrong?” Vax asked.

“Nothing.”

He looked down—spotted her twisting her engagement ring around on her finger. She had worn it tonight, since this was a big event, and all three courts would be represented in the crowd. She knew that Saundor would like to see it there. Vax frowned.

“You know, Vex, you don’t have to—”

“Don’t,” she said. “Don’t talk about it.”

She always shut him down on this topic. She walked a dangerous path, and right now, uncertainty felt like it would be toxic. It would be worse than turning around of her own accord, because it might make her shake, full of indecision, and fall.

Vax respected her request, though his dear brow was creased with worry. She mustered a smile for him. After all, the full moon events _were_ fun. They brought out the best parts of faerie life, as far as the twins were concerned. Vex loved the dancing, the hunts, the colourful food, the cheerful music, the portion of the feast shared out to the forest animals. Vax loved the pranks and mischief, and the knife throwing competitions, and the romantic poetry read out loud.

Soon, the twins reached the edges of the Faerie Forest. This part belonged to the Court of Frost. It was even more markedly different than the other forest boundaries, for the edges were lined with crystals of ice, and several trees frozen in perfect preservation, no matter the season.

There were tokens and effigies here as well. Sometimes, these days, passing tokens made Vex prickle with a touch of pain, as her attachments to magic grew deeper roots. But on the full moon, most human symbols couldn’t bother even the weakest of the fey. She reached up to touch a bough laden with wind chimes, grinning as they rang out through the air.

Beyond the border, there was snow, and bare dirt that seemed to radiate chill, with only the smallest hint of snowdrops and lichen to poke up through the frost.

Vex felt a quiver over her body, as the veil around the changelings thinned and dispersed, and their features twisted fey again. She lifted the edge of her dress, a deep indigo today, and walked on with her brother. His suit was made to match. Their father always provided them their clothes, handing over parcels for their next visit. It was considered poor taste to dress the same for back-to-back celebrations.

They walked directly west until a large black wolf stalked out from the forest. It stopped and stared at them expectantly.

“Hello, darling,” Vex said in careful greeting. “We’re here for the party.”

The wolf tilted its head to one side.

“Clearly,” he said. “My name is Galdric. Follow me.”

He led the way through the forest, until at last, the sounds of the party rose to greet them. There was magic in the music, making Vex’s shoulders relax.

“I will leave you here,” the wolf said. “I may need to guide others.”

“Thank you, Galdric,” Vax said.

The wolf bowed its head and left them.

They looked out across the crowd. Many of the fey were familiar, and Vex quickly took count of her favourite dance partners—the ones who weren’t big on small-talk, but wouldn’t step on her toes.

Then she gasped. Grabbed Vax by the arm.

“Look!” she said. “Look who’s over there!”

She pointed across the crowd. It was Lady Kima. She looked overwhelmed and a little grumpy, but safe, sitting at a table with a drink in her hand. She wore her usual armour, polished to a shine, with a red scarf around her throat.

The twins pushed through the crowd to reach her, and her face lit up in a smile. She leapt up to greet them with a hug.

“So you guys _are_ changelings, huh? I thought those were rumours!”

“Who cares about that?” Vax gasped. “What the fuck are you doing here? Are you okay?”

“Yes, darling,” Vex added. “Forgive the bluntness, but everyone thinks you’re dead.”

“Ah, yeah,” Kima said, sheepish. “I feel really bad about all that. I just…”

She looked across the crowd, seeking something specific.

“Kima?” Vex prompted.

“Sorry. I recently had my whole world turned upside down, you see.”

“Why are you drinking the wine?” Vax asked.

“Ah,” Kima looked embarrassed, lowering her glass. “That’s the thing… you two better sit down.”

They did as she asked, staring expectantly, which seemed to make her more flustered than before, pinned under two sets of identical eyes.

“Okay, so I, uh, I went looking for the fey, like I wanted to,” she admitted. “I started in the forest nearest Emon, heading toward the Court of Frost. At first it seemed like such a good idea. I was following cow tracks, when suddenly they vanished… and I found the first patches of snow. I kept on, but as the temperature dropped, I started to feel like something was watching me. Time went wonky. I think hours passed, and my instincts told me I was in deep danger. Sure enough…”

She shrugged, taking a swig of cider.

“They came out of nowhere. Huge beasts, green and black and scaled. Furious. They attacked, and shit, you know I’m good with a sword, but these things were _mythical_.”

“Yes,” Vex said, appalled. “The Court of Frost is known for its beasts.”

“Well, I found that out the hard way,” but Kima was smiling. “So, I fought as fierce as I could, but they caught me with their claws over and over again. And right when I thought I was about to die, I saw it, rising up from a creek nearby. Another scaled thing of bright platinum, dripping water and shining in the light. It wasn’t horrible like the others. Its eyes were glowing like opals, its scales looked smooth and pretty, and its body was limber and quick. It wasn’t a fighter. It might even have lost, if I hadn’t wounded the other two already. But as it was, the new dragon tore them apart before my very eyes. When it turned to face me… I passed out.”

She looked smug now. She covered the smile with another sip of her drink.

“Keep going!” Vax said.

“Well, I awoke in a small cave beside a lake. When I peeked outside, I saw snow and ice in the distance, but all the trees nearby were green as anything, dipping their leaves in the water. And best of all, there was this woman there.”

Kima was smiling now, distant and dreamy.

“Not to be crude, but she was totally naked, and, like, so hot. Just wading through the lake looking peaceful, collecting up plants from the surface. She had these ethereal blue eyes, and golden hair in two braids, trailing on the water. She looked… magic. A nymph.”

The twins exchanged a glance, puzzled by the shifting tone of their friend, who had always hated the fey.

“And then I recognised her,” Kima smiled softly. “I had saved her life once before, never knowing what she was, and nursed her back to health. I was a trainee guard at the time. I assumed she lived somewhere nearby. When we parted with a kiss, I didn’t realise she intended to vanish forever.”

“But now?”

“Now everything is different. I would have died if she hadn’t taken on her dragon from and joined the fight. She risked herself to save me.”

“So you decided to stay? Just like that?”

“It was a little more complicated,” Kima said. “To-to heal me, she had to give me something to drink. So I can’t leave now. The magic binds me.”

“Oh, Kima,” Vex reached for her hand. Gave it a squeeze. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Kima assured her. “She asked me to make the choice, and I agreed I’d rather live. Really. I could never have imagined joining this world before, but now… I don’t feel terrible. I want to spend more time with her.”

Vex scanned Kima’s face, taking in the rare gentleness, and protective affection in her friend’s expression. Her own worries softened in response.

“What’s her name?” she asked.

“Allura.” Kima ducked her head in another rare display of embarrassment.

“So you’re living in the Court of Frost?” Vax said.

“Sort of. I’m living in Allura’s glade, in her cave. We’re building a tower from the river stones. But her membership is with this court, so I figure I should meet some fey and see what this world is like. The Queen seems decent—very fair—and all the nymphs are nice. I even met one who knows Grog.”

Vax laughed. “We’ve heard of her.”

But one question was still needling at Vex. She remembered the old fury on Kima’s face. The utter hatred for the fey. It had all melted away.

“Don’t you despise them though?” she asked. “The fey? Creatures like… us?”

“Oh, Vex, I don’t hate you,” Kima said earnestly. “I promise. I was very misguided about what the fey were before. But I was wrong. Once I knew _she_ was fey, I saw my mistake so clearly. And after talking to her… I know I was thinking rashly. Judging harshly. I’m learning now.”

It was the classic Kima practically: a flare of righteous rage, quickly put aside in the face of more important things.

“Thank you,” Vex said softly. “For saying that. It’s nice to know that… minds can change.”

“You won’t tell anyone?” Kima asked quickly. “It’s just, I need to work out what to do, and how to inform my family. I can still visit them, of course, I simply can’t hold the intention of escaping, or the forest border will hold me in.”

“We won’t tell,” Vex agreed, though she already longed to run to Percy.

“Oh, look! Here comes Allura now!”

Kima waved down a figure in the crowd, and the nymph approached them gracefully. She did have long hair, wound into two thick braids about her shoulders. The fabric of her dress was flowing like water drawn over her body. Her face was surprisingly sweet and clever.

Kima introduced everyone, looking on edge, as though even the most veiled insult directed at Allura would make her lose her cool. But she needn’t have worried. They got on well, right from the start. They spent a long time sitting together, talking and getting to know one another. Vex and Vax managed to share a more detailed story of their background, since Kima was no longer sure which parts were fact or fiction.

And then they were interrupted by one of Syldor’s pixie messengers. The twins bid goodbye to their friends, old and new, and went off to answer the summons.

“Hello father,” they said.

“Sit down,” Syldor said, sliding the wine across to them as they did so.

He held the position of an honoured guest. Only a few tables away, the Queen herself was seated. She was surrounded by her usual flock of ravens, speaking quietly to one as she fed it from her plate. Her dress was blood red, paired with a single ruby on the porcelain mask she wore, drawn down over her face.

“Scanlan isn’t here?” Vex asked her father.

“No,” Syldor frowned, observing the fray. “He’s off duty tonight. It’s strange he hasn’t come to the party though. I believed he wouldn’t miss the chance.”

“Oh well,” Vex said. “We can talk to him some other time. What about Saundor? Is he here?”

Her father looked down at the ring on her hand and smiled. Vex didn’t add it to her mental bank of smiles directed her. It wasn’t about her. It was about the match.

“Oh no, he won’t come,” Syldor said. “This is a full moon celebration.”

He left it there, like that explained everything.

“And?” Vax prompted. “Remember, we don’t know shit about this world.”

Syldor frowned slightly at the expletive. He sighed, as though this was a chore.

“Well, within the courts, there are two layers of fey activity. Seelie activity, and Unseelie.”

“We’ve heard of that.”

“Yes, so Seelie aligned magic is the magic of the full moon. It is focused on mischief and laughter and fun. Those who use it are proponents of the arts. We dance and eat good food and grow beautiful gardens. We learn healing. We take account of the laws of magic.”

“The last part being your focus,” Vex scoffed, for she had seen few signs of her father _enjoying_ himself.

He ignored her and continued.

“The Unseelie magic is different. It observes the dark of the moon. It is twisted and tied up with pain and vicious trickery. It enjoys power. It involves _taking_ rather than making. It is, in some sense, evil.”

“And you don’t practice Unseelie magic?” Vex asked, raising a dubious eyebrow, thinking of the two human babies he killed to turn them into changelings.

“Everyone shares in a little Unseelie magic. The Elders of Arcana preside over us all and require the three courts to meet a certain benchmark. If we refused to balance our magic, they would take away all of our power.”

“And your ‘benchmark’ was?”

Syldor had the decency to look a little uncomfortable.

“The human twins. They were a sacrifice to the forces of the Unseelie. By killing them in ritual, we were saved from committing other evil deeds.”

“Some would argue that no amount of evil should be necessary,” Vex said.

“Some don’t understand the complexities of the fey,” he dismissed.

“You’ve never fully explained why we were turned into changelings,” Vax said. His tone was more hesitant than usual.

“Well, the laws of magic require balance. That’s why we must engage in both forms of magic in the first place. To take a baby, you must give up a baby. To take _twins,_ you must give up twins. Changelings can always choose to return to us later, when they grow up and have minds of their own, but while they are infants, we exchange them.”

“If they survive,” Vex said. “If they humans don’t drown them first.”

“Yes,” Syldor seemed unbothered by that. “It would not be a sacrifice if there were no risk involved.”

For a while, the twins were silent, stung by the callous way he spoke of them. Vex remembered once, long ago, asking if their birth mother was still alive, and what she thought of all this, but Syldor explained that his faerie partner had died a long time ago, without a single regret. He had married again. The twins had never asked to meet his new wife.

“Anyway,” Vex said at last. “Does Saundor practice Unseelie magic? Is that why he isn’t here?”

“Of course. You see, the Briarwood nurtures the Unseelie more than any other court. Its archfey are the leaders of the Unseelie ways. Whereas my court, the Court of Syngorn is their opposite. We are primarily inhabited by Seelie creatures, and our archfey are patrons to goodness.”

“Yet you still have to do Unseelie magic?”

“A little. And the Brairwood must also do some Seelie magic. Neither of us are required to do very much, however, because we balance each other. The Court of Sygron would not exist in such pure form without our dark counterpart.”

“And this Court?” Vax asked, glancing curiously at the Queen again.

“The Court of Frost is well balanced on its own. Its fey lie somewhere between both realms of magic. After all, this is the part of the Faerie Forest through which the spirits walk and the animals gather to rest. Nature does not take sides. Death is neutral.”

They were quiet again, absorbing the strangeness of his words. Vex felt sick to think that her fiancé was so strongly aligned to the Unseelie. No one had bothered to warn her. Not even her father, who apparently worked on the opposite side. She would never understand the fey.

She poured herself a drink at last. Took a sip. The wine here was crisp and clear as an icy brook.

“But there are creatures of the Briarwood here,” she said, pointing out a couple in the crowd. “If they are Unseelie, why celebrate the full moon?”

“Like I said, there is balance in all courts, and these skew toward the light enough. Just as I had to participate in changeling magic to keep our power, these ones do good things.”

“So Saundor could, in theory—”

“He has never chosen to join the Seelie.”

Vex pressed her lips together.

“I see,” she said.

More than ever, she felt like she was standing on shaky ground. She twisted her engagement ring around her finger again. Round and round and round.

…

**Waning moon, three hours after dawn.**

Percy had hardly slept the night before, but today was a church day, and everyone in the village attended services. Even Keyleth, who thought it was a waste of time. So he dutifully sat beside her and sang the songs and tried not to drift off in the sermon, and soon, they were finished.

He had spent half of church staring at the back of Vex’s head, where she was sitting a couple of rows in front. He recalled seeing her out the night before and was impressed with how alert she was despite her lack of rest, singing with her head raised high, and praying the Grace to Pelor with earnest attention. Now, while the crowds milled around and socialised, he had a chance to talk to her.

Their usual group gathered, chatting about mundane things for a while. Grog told the story of his latest hunt, during which a wild boar had almost skewered him, until he recklessly caught it by the tusks. Things felt ordinary and simple. Percy could hardly keep his eyes away from Vex.

Then one of the village women, Sybil, came over with a question for Pike and Keyleth, cradling her new baby. And Grog was drawn away by an older man, who wanted to ask for help with a hunting mission. And suddenly, Percy was standing there alone with the twins.

“I see you’re still carrying your book bag,” Vex said.

Percy felt pink rise to his cheeks, and cursed his easy emotional giveaway.

“Yes,” he said. “I have to return something.”

Vax looked confused.

“You’re allowed to take out books from this library?”

Vex’s eyes were sparkling, very aware that Percy had gone in the middle of the night to take this book without permission. But she managed to hold back any laughter.

“In this case,” he said cryptically. “Anyway, I thought I’d put it back this morning, on the off-chance that someone happens to want it.”

“How kind of you,” Vex said. “May I see it?”

And suddenly, Percy felt panic clutch him. It seemed such a benign request, but he was worried what she would think, to see him researching the fey. Worse, he didn’t want Vax to know, and jump to any conclusions.

But turning down something so simple seemed just as suspicious.

He slid the book out from the bag, trying to look as unbothered as possible. Its leather cover gleamed deep emerald in the sun. It looked beautiful in Vex’s hands, as she took it from him.

“ _Dusk and Dawn: the tremulous relationship between Faeries and the realm of the Faithful_ ,” she read aloud. “Oh.”

“Trying to better understand what happened to my family,” Percy said in a rush.

Vax nodded. But Vex opened the book and flicked through some of the pages. He saw the briefest hesitation as she hit the most well-thumbed portion, the chapter titled _Dark of the Moon._ Her saw her eyes skim the text. And then she moved on, as if she’d noticed nothing. A pause barely perceptible.

“Well, it looks interesting,” Vex said, handing it back. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

He saw something in her eyes. She was holding back words. She wanted to tell him more.

“Thank you,” he said. “Now I’d better go and put it back.”

So he slipped away, while everyone else was occupied, and removed the last trace of his night time thievery.

…

**Dark of the Moon, dusk.**

As night fell, Percy’s anxiety blossomed in his chest. Today was the day, after weeks of preparation. He would sink into the world of the fey while the moon was new, meet Orthax, and come away with the forbidden knowledge he craved.

He had spent the last moon cycle awkwardly skirting around his new friends, trying to avoid letting his plans slip. Trying not to think about Vex.

Now he dressed in his finest clothes, pulled his cloak over top, and slid out of the house. He passed Keyleth’s room guiltily, half wishing he could actually explain all of this to her. But he was thankful that she didn’t wake.

The sky was dark tonight, the only light provided by distant pin-prick stars. Abruptly, he was reminded of the night his family died—of his run through the pitch black forest, tripping over tree roots that disturbed the surface of the road, desperately trying to reach the village, lungs burning with the taste of smoke.

He squeezed his eyes shut. Reopened them.

“Get a hold of yourself,” he whispered. “Be logical. Nothing will catch you tonight.”

And he vanished into the forest.

He wasn’t sure where he was supposed to go. He had no idea of the right direction, nor the way he would actually get to Orthax. So he went straight back to the faerie circle he’d visited last time.

His book hadn’t told him much about the courts and their entrances and their history. Humans didn’t know those things to write them down in the first place. It had mostly warned, over and over again, how evil the fey were. It had promised that the dark of the moon was one of the worst times to encounter a faerie. It was a time when binding deals were struck, and death reigned, and humans were tangled into the politics of the magic realm.

Percy didn’t mind that idea. He _wanted_ to be tangled up. Because how else might he call wrath down on those who had ruined his life?

He found his faerie circle after an extra half hour of searching and hesitated before stepping inside. In the dark, it felt dangerous, like anything could be watching from the nearby trees. He cleared his throat, intending to call for Scanlan first, but something held him back. He couldn’t picture the brightly dressed gnome standing here, in the shadows.

So he went inside without saying a word.

“Hello, handsome,” someone whispered.

A different voice than Scanlan’s, guttural and sinister, more growl than speech. Percy turned.

It was a gargoyle, crouched atop one of the trees roots that licked the edge of the faerie circle. It watched him with eyes that seemed to glow faintly. It smiled, revealing a row of teeth.

“Well,” said Percy. “It’s good to know that everyone can acknowledge my good looks.”

“Why are you here?” the creature asked.

“Seeking someone.”

The gargoyle grinned wickedly, and moved closer, sniffing the air around Percy. Then it froze. It stared up at him.

“I see,” it muttered. “I’ll take you to him.”

He followed it, despite trusting it not at all. Rather than taking him toward the Court of Syngorn, it turned north, toward the Briarwood. He wanted to spin around and go back. He thought he might be sick. He squeezed his fists together so hard that his nails left small crescents on his palms.

Luckily, they didn’t drift in the direction of his old castle. They continued up through the forest, until suddenly, the sound of music began to drift their way.

The song was haunting. It echoed out the minor key, with an undertone of tremulous horror that made Percy’s skin crawl. There were screams woven in beneath the sound of the instruments. There was the occasional gut-wrenching beat of silence, somehow almost worse than the music itself, for the anticipation it wrought.

They reached the edges of a glade. And Percy had seen a fey celebration before, so this one shocked him.

It was completely twisted. The only light came from strange glowing fungi—the most beautiful thing in sight—and the dance floor was a mess of twirling limbs, occasionally crushing one another, seething like insects beneath a log.

There were food tables at one end, but they were overflowing, spilling onto the ground. There was a liberal coating of something red and sticky, which looked like blood, and piles of what must have been raw meat, all interwoven with dishes that would otherwise be appealing, and things that seemed completely perverse, like roasted piglets shoved into the mouths of adult pigs.

Percy quickly turned his face away from it. His gargoyle slapped his leg with its tail, frustrated.

“Don’t stand and stare, come on!”

It led him away across the edges of the crowd. Percy noticed more disturbing things on the dance floor. There were mortals there. Some danced as if in a stupor, caught up in total bliss, unaware of their surroundings as the fey pawed at them and leered. Other danced bodily, but their eyes gave away their terror. They lurched on blistered, tired feet, unable to stop, no matter how much they longed to.

He looked away. This was what he would fix. This is what he would bring to an end, when he defeated the fey.

The gargoyle stopped abruptly and pointed to a nearby table, surrounded by thorny bushes.

“He sits in there,” it said. “Any payment for your guide?”

“Payment?” Percy said.

Scanlan had never asked for such a thing. But the gargoyle looked serious. Percy dug in his pockets. He had no gold. He pulled out a handkerchief. It was embroidered with his father’s initials. His hand tightened on it, trying to put it back.

“That will suffice,” the gargoyle said, eyes pinned on the scrap of cloth.

Percy wanted to argue. Wanted to refuse. But he was out of his depth here, unsure of the consequences. He handed it over.

His guide scampered off immediately. Percy turned toward the thicket and summoned all his courage. He walked through the narrow gap between thorns, feeling them tug at his cloak.

Orthax was inside. He was still formed of smoke and shadow, but his edges looked increasingly defined. His head was indeed long and bird-like. He smiled at the sight of Percy, a parting in the smoke that formed him making the expression very clear.

 ** _Percival, you have arrived_** , he said.

“Good evening, Orthax.”

 ** _Ah, the sweet bond of two names freely given,_** Orthax murmured. **_Please, sit down with me. I have waited a long time for such a willing pupil._**

“Can we really talk here? In the middle of this court?”

**_You doubt my magic? I have put up the proper spells. We cannot be overheard. I want to destroy these people are much as you, and I will not risk our plot being uncovered._ **

“Okay,” said Percy. He sat down.

**_I can’t offer you something to drink, I’m afraid._ **

“Nor would I want you to.”

**_Shall we begin?_ **

Percy felt thirsty. Felt hungry. But not for anything of substance. He needed this knowledge more than he needed anything else. His eyes were shining.

“Yes,” he breathed, the word a desperate prayer. “Please.”

Orthax looked deeply satisfied. He asked if Percy brought something to write with, and when the notebook was produced, he stroked his pride, saying how pleased he was to see his student so well prepared.

Then he dove into the meat of their deal. He gave Percy secrets that had long been kept from mortal eyes. He reworked Percy’s understanding of weaponry, showing him silver arrowheads and daggers. He drew secrets runes on the table, using the scarlet wine from his own cup, the marks resembling blood. Percy copied them meticulously onto paper. Then Orthax gave him names. A whole list of full names.

After Percy finished writing them, pleased with the gleaming solid letters, as real proof of his upcoming revenge, he glanced up. And saw something that made him gasp.

Cassandra de Rolo was making her way slowly through the crowd, tailing two tall, beautiful figures with dark hair and rich ruby clothing. Her head was down, her eyes wary, avoiding the touch of the fey. She looked rigid with the effort of self control. She looked terrified. She looked brave.

Percy leapt up from the table. In an instant, Orthax was standing in his path, hands outstretched.

“Cassandra!” Percy shouted. His voice didn’t carry. He remembered the silencing spell over the table. “Let me past!”

 ** _No._** Orthax said calmly. **_Percival, you need to listen to me._**

“Let me see my sister! Let me see her! She’s alive!”

Percy felt tears in his eyes. He felt as though he were being torn apart.

Orthax grabbed his wrists. His touch felt strange and unreal, but solid enough. He loomed taller, blocking Percy’s view of his sister. Forcing him to look at his face.

 ** _She has betrayed you, Percival_** , Orthax said. **_I wanted to tell you when you were ready. She has joined the Briarwood._**

“No,” Percy said, voice strangled. “Not by choice. She—”

**_She calls herself their daughter._ **

“No!”

Percy struggled, and couldn’t break free. Tears spilled over, hot and full of rage.

“She is my _sister,_ ” he said.

**_Listen to me._ **

“Let me go, Orthax!”

Suddenly, Orthax’s grip weakened on his wrists. Percy took the chance, yanking himself free, sprinting away into the midst of the party.

He had lost sight of Cassandra already, but he knew vaguely the direction she had been walking. He plunged between dancing bodies, yelling out her name over the scream of the music. He reached his hands out and spun someone toward him, who had long dark hair like hers, but the face was wrong. He kept going.

By now, he was catching the attention of several fey creatures. He ignored their interest, and kept on running, eyes feverishly scanning the crowd. He caught sight of new horrors at every turn, but could not see his sister. Eventually, his sprint took him to the edges of the crowd. He spun back, ready to find her again, yelling her name.

And then a firm hand caught hold of his wrist.

…

Vex was certain that Percy planned to do something stupid on the dark of the moon. One glance at his foolish research had been enough. The chapter he’d been reading was called _Dark of the Moon,_ and the worn pages he had studied spoke of making deals with faeries. So, just in case, Vex went out that night, and waited in the orchard by his house. Sure enough, Percy left the cottage, cloak drawn over his head, sneaking out through the village.

“Scanlan?” she whispered.

It took a moment, but the gnome appeared in a flash of purple light. She had warned him she might need his help tonight, and he’d been more than willing to be called on.

“He _is_ going somewhere,” she said. “We better follow.”

And they did.

They watched Percy go through the faerie circle and Scanlan made a smug comment about it being _his_ place. But things weren’t light-hearted for long. When they walked through themselves, they realised Percy was heading north, to the dark of the moon feast in the Briarwood.

They lingered at the edges of the party, and Vex’s stomach twisted at the things she saw there. Percy was lost in the crowd, and she felt increasingly on edge, waiting for him to reappear, wondering what the hell he was doing.

The problem was, she couldn’t follow Percy into the actual party. She knew that Saundor would be here somewhere, and over the last weeks, her uncertainty about him had blossomed. She didn’t want to speak with him. Most of all, she didn’t want to give him the opportunity to claim her, on this night when his power was strongest.

Now that she saw the Briarwood feast, with its tangle of torture and cruelty, she was more sure than ever. She didn’t want to be trapped in this court for the rest of her life. She didn’t want to become a bored, lecherous face, grabbing hold of a stunned, spelled human from the crowd and taking her pleasure.

She felt like she was going mad from the stress of it.

Luckily, Percy came back into view at that very moment. Unluckily, it was with fanfare. He was shouting for his sister, shoving his way through the thick of the dance floor.

Vex and Scanlan exchanged a panicked glance. They weren’t sure, at first, whether he was under some kind of spell, or whether there was some urgency to his agony. They skirted the edge of the party, watching his passage. He drew many eyes. He was beautiful in his fury, and these Unseelie creatures seemed to feel the appeal.

Vex’s heart beat in her throat.

And Percy ran all the way to the edges of the crowd. They sprinted the last distance to meet him. Right as he turned back, Vex reached out, and caught him by the wrist.

He froze. He spun toward her with anger in his eyes.

And then the emotion faded. Left shock in its wake.

“ _Vex_?” he asked.

“Percy, come with me,” she said desperately.

He turned, bless him, and followed her into the trees. But the fey were still watching them, curious to see the drama unfold. Vex kept her hand on his arm and leaned close, lips to his ear, to whisper.

“I had to come for you,” she said. “It’s so dangerous here, you don’t understand. Humans can’t just walk into the midst of this and get back unscathed.”

Percy twitched, looking embarrassed.

“I- I had reasons,” he said.

“And now they all watch you.” Her eyes were directed over his shoulder, back at the party, but she could feel how close his stare was. “They’ll want to keep you here. Why were you shouting?”

“My sister is alive,” he said. “I saw her walking through the crowd and tried to give chase. I- I couldn’t catch up.”

“Oh Percy, that’s…”

She didn’t know what to say, faced with the implications of his words, with his sister lost to the Briarwood fey. Cassandra must have eaten things. Must have been privy only to their company. She must have been bound to them over the years.

“It’s dangerous,” she said instead. “For both of us. We need to leave.”

Percy suddenly looked annoyed. He jerked out of her grasp, and she turned her attention back to him.

“Why did you come for me?” he asked. “If it’s so dangerous? No one would miss me.”

“I would!” Vex snapped.

Then she saw it. Movement in the crowd. The faeries parting for a more powerful being. She felt the magnetism. She chest tightened.

“You have to leave!” she said. “Scanlan?”

“Yes?”

“Take him! Use your magic!”

“What?” said Percy.

“I can’t carry both of you through,” Scanlan said. “Not with the moon like—"

“I know,” Vex turned her eyes to him, and saw his worry plain on his face. It warmed her. Gave her more courage. “But I’m far more likely to get out of this alive than Percy is.”

Scanlan nodded. He lifted his hands.

Percy tried to protest—to reach for Vex—but a trembling border of purple light erupted from the gnome. It enveloped his body. In a dim, weak little flash, they were gone. They were teleported away to safety.

Vex turned back toward the party, just in time to see her fiancé emerging from the crowd.


	6. red hands and smoky lungs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're almost at the end now! one more chapter + one epilogue to come after this

Saundor broke out from the crowd. He loomed, with angry, yellow eyes flashing, more imposing than ever, and more dangerous. The flavour of powerful magic crackled in the air around him.

Vex had not intended to see him, on this night, when he was at his strongest. She had taken off her ring to weaken the tie between them. She had planned to take some time, and talk to her brother, and make a decision about whether or not to continue the engagement. 

But now, she was swept by several realisations all at once.

She feared this man—hated his hold on her. He was more powerful, more ancient, more dangerous than she could ever understand. If they were bound together, she would come to despise him, and over time, he would use everything he knew about her to his own advantage. He would wear her away to dust.

Besides, she loved another.

It was breath-taking, that certainty. She had torn her way into the faerie realm on the dark of the moon with little thought for herself, knowing only that Percy might be in danger. Of course, she would have risked her life for any of her friends. But something was deeper here. Something was urgent and undeniable. Vex had seen into Percy’s soul, with all his tendencies for foolish choices, and still run headlong in to save him.

Yet there was no blame in her heart. She loved Percy for everything he was. Not in spite of his flaws, but because of them, and the way they drew him closer to her. She loved him for their connection and unspoken understanding. She loved him for his wit and his brilliant mind and his snarky sense of humour. She loved him for his ability to listen, so unexpectedly thoughtful, and for his lack of fear in sharing his own opinions. She loved him for his closed-off, tender heart, slowly opening. She loved him for the man he could be and the healing he deserved.

She loved Percival de Rolo. And now was, perhaps, the worst time to realise it.

Her fiancé strode toward her.

“Vex’ahlia,” he greeted in a low voice. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Hello Saundor,” she said, body tense as a bowstring.

His eyes scanned her. Hungry and possessive.

“Were you kissing that boy? Who was he?”

“I didn’t kiss him!” she said. “I was whispering in his ear, so the other faeries didn’t hear. And anyway, I hardly know him. He lives in the village. I told him to go home.”

“How altruistic,” he said, eyes narrowed.

“I’m a compassionate person.”

“Now that you’re here,” he said. “Won’t you sit with me a while?”

His expression made it clear that he was not making a request. He was ordering.

“Okay,” Vex said slowly.

She was very aware of the fey gathering behind them. The darkness all around, imbuing her enemies with power.

She followed him back to the party, where he marched directly toward the high table, Vex almost stumbling on her short legs in his wake. Her eyes scanned the scene, hoping she might see something helpful. And then she swallowed a gasp.

Cassandra de Rolo was standing off to the side of the high table, under a tree, with a slender gold chain tied from her ankles to the roots. She was older than when Vex last saw her, but very distinct, with her de Rolo nose, and clever, sad eyes. A streak of white had wound itself through her hair, like the white in her brother’s that appeared the night of the Briarwood invasion.

She looked stiff and mask-like. Her gaze roved over the party. She watched twisted humans prodded about the dance floor, and though her rigid demeanour was cold and absent, there was guarded agony in her tension.

Vex didn’t watch her for long. She refused to give herself away like that. When Saundor reached his table, he pulled out a chair, and she folded into it, thanking him quietly.

“You have surprised me tonight, coming here, to my own domain.”

“I have?”

“Strange that you could surprise me, when I know you so well.”

She hated when he said that. She wanted to deny it.

“Any individual has the potential to be surprising.”

“I suppose,” he said. “Yet I know how to read people. I see into them. Into you.”

“And what do you see?”

“Someone broken, unproven, yet _desperate_ to prove herself.” He smiled. “You would drive all your loved ones into danger to fulfil your own ambition. You would abandon your humanfolk. You would bind your brother to the world he doesn’t want. Under your surface confidence, you are shattered by expectation. Uncertain. Unsure. Always the baby abandoned. Always the changeling. That’s why I offered you my hand. Because I am your mirror, and yet, I learned how to rise above. I would share that gift with you.”

Vex was burning. There was enough truth in Saundor’s words for them to imbed themselves into her. Yet she rebelled against them too. Hadn’t she come all this way to save Percy? Wasn’t she trying to do the right thing for Vax?

It wasn’t ambition she chased. It was the promise of safety.

And she didn’t want to gain it by falling, uncontrolled, into the world of the Unseelie.

“I say this not to hurt you,” Saundor continued. “But because I understand. I _was_ you. Yet you have things I do not. Things you could give to me. Companionship. Trust. A bond better than the pain of my past.”

“I see,” Vex said, latching on to the distraction. “You have been hurt before?”

It wasn’t just greed in Saundor’s eyes. That yellow glow held melancholy. Deep, unshakeable grief.

“We all have.” He sighed. “It happened so long ago, for me, I hardly remember. The life of an archfey is enduring. All I know is that I am alone, and she left me here.”

“What was her name?”

“Memories have faded,” he said. “I feel your stare, Vex’ahlia. My dear, my sweet. Tell me, can you understand me?”

“I-I think I do.”

“Then won’t you wear my ring? Accept my bond? You are so close to joining my world.”

“With the same price?”

“Yes, your heart.”

“My heart.”

They stared at each other. Vex’s heart was pounding. She wanted nothing more than to escape. Yet she knew there was something more she had to do.

She leaned close and drew on all her charm.

“Just give me a little longer, darling. My heart is unsteady. You must understand that.”

“I understand,” he said, though his face was made of stone.

She kissed his cheek and stood. Saw longing flash on those long, sharp features. But thankfully, he let her go.

And she made off as if to leave the party. She glanced back once, and saw him vanishing in the trees, and her breath eased just a little. Then she turned toward the edge of the celebration, where Cassandra waited off to the side of the high table.

Cassandra tensed when Vex reached her, though she kept her chin high and proud. She looked around, spotting the royal archfey of the Briarwood, who were out on the dance floor, lost in each other’s eyes. Her shoulders slumped with a modicum of relief, but it was still clear she didn’t want to speak to any stranger.

“Hello,” Vex said softly anyway. “Are you Cassandra de—”

“Don’t say the name,” Cassandra said quickly. “They’ll tell me off, for talking to someone. For giving it away. How do you know it?”

“I’m Vex’ahlia. I live in Whitestone village. I am a changeling.”

Cassandra’s lips parted. She turned her eyes to Vex for the first time, looking away from the twisted crowd. Her gaze was deeper than any pool. It was fathomless and full of unending grief. Ancient beyond her years.

She was torn between two incompatible worlds. Like Vex herself.

“It’s rare I meet another person pushed into the wrong life,” Cassandra said. But right after, she pressed her lips together, as though she’d given away too much.

“It’s okay,” Vex said. “You can speak freely with me. I’m not of this court.”

“Are you from the Court of Frost?” Cassandra asked.

“No.”

“Court of Syngorn?” There was surprise in her voice now. “Your people rarely come here.”

“Yes,” Vex said. “I usually avoid this place. But tonight, there was a reason.”

She leaned against the tree beside Cassandra and looked out at the party. But she respected the girl’s space, not allowing their shoulders to brush, not invading the invisible wall she kept up around her ears.

Cassandra didn’t say anything. It hardly sounded like she was breathing.

“Your brother was here,” Vex murmured.

For the first time, Cassandra’s composure truly broke. Shattered. Her gold chain clinked loudly as she spun to look at Vex. There was _hunger_ in her eyes; she still longed for what she used to have. She still _loved._

That was important.

“Percy is my friend,” Vex said, her voice dangerously soft and revealing. “He was looking for answers, I think. He’s been wondering where all the cattle went. And his friend, Lady Kima, is trapped in the Court of Frost, but he doesn’t know which part of the Faerie Forest she’s in.”

“He came here?” Cassandra said. She was at once angry and hopeful. “Didn’t he know the risks?”

“I’m not sure he cares enough about himself right now,” Vex said. “But perhaps things will change, now that he knows you live. He caught a glimpse of you before, and shoved through the crowd, shouting your name. He almost gave himself away. I had to send him home.”

“The fool,” Cassandra breathed.

“Hard not to love him though,” Vex said.

“Yes,” Cassandra agreed, looking as though the word tore at her throat.

There was a sudden softening trust in their air between them then. Strange, what the power of two anchored hearts could do.

“Are you okay, darling?” Vex asked her. “Being here. Missing the human world. Are you… safe?”

Cassandra’s ears twitched, on alert for eavesdroppers, like the ears of some fey creature. Vex noted that the tips were becoming pointed. After so long in the Faerie Forest, sustained by fey cuisine, even a human prisoner was bound to start changing.

Seeming satisfied that they were in private, Cassandra spoke.

“I am… safe. I think. They treat me as a daughter. Delilah and Sylas. As though I were their royal heir. An archfey in training.”

Vex was horrified. Such a statement hid complicated emotion. It reminded her of her own struggle with split identity, yet in this case, it was magnified and intensified by isolation.

“Cassandra,” she said gently, “I’m so sorry.”

Cassandra’s eyes filled with tears.

“Everyone here tells me I should be grateful,” she said.

“No,” Vex shook her head. “Never. The Unseelie are masters of manipulation. They will ruin your life and expect gratitude because they have not gone so far as to kill you. You owe them nothing. Especially not your heart. Especially not your innermost thoughts.”

Cassandra took a shuddering breath and wiped her eyes.

“No one says these things,” she whispered. “It’s always me, in my own head, talking myself in and out of every decision.”

“I’ve been lost too,” Vex admitted. “I understand.”

She reached out. In a single, gentle touch, she brushed the hair back from Cassandra’s forehead, and tucked it behind her ear, the way her own mother used to touch her. Cassandra leaned into her palm, for just an instant, and then withdrew. She pulled strength from deep in her belly and regained her composure.

“I shouldn’t talk about these things,” she said. “Please, don’t tell them.”

“I won’t.”

“They could have sent you—”

“No. I am my own person.” Vex ignored the idea of the engagement ring. Of her father’s blood in her veins. “No one commands me. You will see me leave here. You will never see me take sides with the Brairwood.”

“I suppose I have no choice but to trust you,” Cassandra said.

“Then I will trust you in return,” Vex said. “Will you answer something for me?”

“I will.”

“Why do the Briarwood fey steal cattle? What are they doing?”

“Ah,” said Cassandra. “It’s not such a secret, really. Most of the fey have worked it out. They must make sacrifices to the Elders of Arcana, like everyone else. Cattle are full of the magic of human community, interconnected reliance, and gentle simplicity. Their magic is symbolised in the milk that we give to our children and the warmth they share when brought into peasant homes in winter. The fey will kill all the cows at once, on the winter solstice. It will give them the power to take over Whitestone village. And, later, the settlements beyond.”

“Shit,” Vex gasped. “Such great ambition?”

“They know they can achieve it.”

“But- but I was told the Seelie and Unseelie must be kept in balance. That the Elders make sure to foster both in equal measure.”

Cassandra’s ears flickered again before she answered.

“Once, perhaps,” she said. “I don’t fully understand it, but from what I hear, the Elders’ council has slowly been infiltrated by more Unseelie creatures. Generations ago—thousands of years in fey history—they did not force the Court of Syngorn to perform evil magics. For how can someone justify calling themselves ‘good’ if that goodness comes on the backs of the innocent? Through the blood of children?”

“I agree,” Vex said.

“But now,” Cassandra continued. “They encourage the Unseelie forces to infiltrate everywhere. They muddle with history and keep it a secret from the Courts of Frost and Syngorn. They favour the Briarwood.”

“But- but how have they managed? How could they keep it a secret?”

“The Elders are so powerful, the other fey have to accept their authority. It’s easier not to question them. Not to think about it too much.” She sighed. “Even the fey in the Briarwood are not all aware.”

“Yet they told you?” Vex said.

Cassandra looked ashamed. She ducked her head.

“I have helped them,” she admitted softly. “They ask. They are so reasonable. They tell me I will rule over my own domain again.”

Vex glanced at Cassandra’s ears.

“But as a faerie, this time?” she asked.

“Yes,” Cassandra admitted. “I- I am changing. Time is wonky here, if they choose to make it so, and sometimes it feels like years have passed. I’ve eaten and drank and joined their parties. I’ve lived in the Briarwood.”

“I didn’t know humans could change so fast,” Vex said, for in stories, humans turned fully fey after going missing for hundreds of years.

“They can change faster than I,” Cassandra said. “Look over there.”

She pointed through the crowd. There was a woman seated at a table with faeries and gargoyles and scholars in long robes. One gnome held a jar with a severed head inside. One faerie had a necklace formed of hip bones, large and clattering together. But the woman Cassandra pointed to was unadorned, in a simple coat. Her ears were sharp and her skin glowed with faint magic, but her teeth weren’t quite so pointed, her eyes not quite so sharp.

“Her name is… I cannot say it, or she will hear. But ask Percy. He knows her. She came as a guest just before the fey took our castle. She seemed strangely fascinated with him.” A tremulous smile crossed her lips. “Apparently he has an aptitude for dark power. She desperately wants that kind of power for herself. She’s transforming as quickly as she can.”

“Yet you say Sylas and Delilah treat you as the heir? Not her?”

“Yes,” Cassandra said. “When my brother abandoned me, they told me they would be my family. I would be theirs.”

Vex looked down at the gold chain around her ankle. The sight of her bare, small foot was a terrible reminder of how young and vulnerable she was, without the white in her hair and experience in her eyes as a distraction.

“Percy didn’t mean to abandon you,” Vex said. “He thought you were dead. And true family wouldn’t chain you up like this. True family wouldn’t manipulate you and keep you in fear. True family wouldn’t lure you into a world of evil.”

“But I- I have been here so long. These changes in me run so deep, there is no turning back. The Unseelie are an inevitable force. Where else could I have a place, other than in the Briarwood, with them?”

“You can choose your own place,” Vex said. “Cassandra, I was ripped away from the world I was born into, and grew up happy in another, only to have my human mother die. I have tried desperately to unravel the mystery of where I belong _,_ and it has only brought me pain. But, after meeting your brother, I’m starting to understand my world again. I will build a new place for myself. I hope I will succeed. And perhaps, then, I can help you too.”

“If it were possible…” Cassandra said.

“It is possible,” Vex said. “I have to believe that.”

And truthfully, Vex was struck anew with inspiration. She was dizzy with hope.

She thought, perhaps, there could be a way to push back the evil of the Unseelie, to return the Elders of Arcana to balance, and to save the remnants of the de Rolo family. There was just one piece missing—a last string she had to connect—an idea hovering just beyond her awareness.

“Cassandra,” she said. “Your brother loves you. He has mourned for you. He risked his life for you today. You can be a family again.”

“I… can’t…” Cassandra seemed afraid to hope.

“I see a chance for a united future,” Vex said. “For hope. How- how deep is your magic, Cassandra? Can you be summoned by name?”

“Yes,” Cassandra admitted. “But, please, don’t call me by my full name, for Sylas and Delilah track those words. Call- call me Cass. A true name, but a secret one. A thing that Percy used to use when we were children. And call me in the hours after dawn, when the Briarwood sleeps. I could never risk anyone catching me.”

“I will remember,” Vex promised. “Cassandra, please don’t forget this moment. I will come to you again, when I have a plan. I promise.”

“I will remember,” Cassandra echoed.

“Thank you,” Vex said. She reached out again and touched Cassandra on the cheek. “Darling, things will improve for you. Believe it.”

“I will try,” Cassandra said. “Please, tell Percy not to come. Tell him that I-I love him. Tell him I remember him well, holding my hand when we climbed the hill to go sledding, picking berries and letting me steal from his basket, reading books out loud to me, sharing his telescope even when I got my smudgy fingers on the lens.”

Her eyes were filling with tears again. Vex could only nod.

“Now, go,” said Cassandra. “The dancing is coming to an end. Sylas and Delilah will return.”

So Vex withdrew her hand and melted away into the forest.

…

**Dark of the Moon, two hours after midnight.**

In the orchard, Percy waited for Vex beneath a tree laden with plums. The sweet smell of them rotting where they fell had just begun to permeate the air. The rest would be harvested soon, before the crop was lost, but for now, their decay was keeping him company. His hands were in his hair, his glasses abandoned in his pocket, flecked with the salty residue of tears.

“Percy?” Vex’s soft voice broke through his haze. “I’m here.”

He leapt to his feet, not thinking for once, and threw his arms around her. She squeezed back, tight.

“You’re alive,” he said. “Why would you do that? Send away your allies? Risk yourself?”

“I knew I could survive,” she said. “Percy, I saw your sister.”

That was enough to distract him.

“Did you speak with her? Is she alright? Does she need help?”

“I spoke with her,” Vex said carefully. “She’s doing as well as one can expect, having suffered so much. She’s a survivor. But things are hard.”

And she told him about the conversation. She told him about all the memories from childhood, and how Cassandra loved him, and how the knowledge of his presence had given her hope. But Vex also shared the hard parts: the manipulation of the Briarwood royalty, the involvement of the human woman (who he identified as Anna Ripley), and the way his sister was now tied to the world of the fey.

“She’s stuck there?” Percy asked, his voice dull. “Forever?”

Something was coming loose inside him. He felt the thread that tied him to Orthax pulled taught, unable to quite reach the point of snapping. He wondered how it was that the two living de Rolos had become so entwined with the beings that slaughtered their family.

“How can I destroy the Briarwood, if I risk hurting her?” he asked. “What can I do, knowing she lives?”

It was so complicated. So unfair. The sheer joy of knowing he had family left alive, followed immediately by the agony of confusion.

“I have an idea, actually,” Vex said, like weaving miracles was an old hobby of hers. “I must talk to my father and wring from him all I can about inheritance among the fey. We both must gather allies, in this world and the other. But I think we have a chance.”

He gaped at her—so clever, so bold, so willing to face down her demons.

She reached out for his hand. Held tight to it. Percy thought he might never let go. He could stand here forever, beneath the plum tree, and look into her dark eyes, and believe a better future might be possible.

“We will survive, darling.”

They were quiet for too long. Percy felt his thoughts drift into dangerous territory, and he looked at the slope of her neck, the curve of her cheeks, the quirk of her lips. He looked into the depths of her irises, and saw smooth brown and shadow, enveloping and inviting.

“Where’s Scanlan?” she asked him suddenly, letting go of his hand.

The spell was broken.

“He went to tell Vax.”

“Well,” said Vex, “we had better find them before they decide to do anything too reckless.”

…

**Dark of the Moon, dawn.**

They ended up hunched over the kitchen table with Vax and Scanlan. Vex told her story again.

Percy couldn’t look directly at her. It would be like looking into the sun. Instead, he kept his eyes trained on the table, small furrow in his brow. Around him, the conversation flowed.

Scanlan was horrified to hear of the corruption of the Elders.

“Not that I put much stock in authority,” he said. “But fuck, that’s bad. No wonder even the Court of Syngorn has always seemed so strangely vicious. My mother told me it wasn’t always that way. She yearned for better times…”

“Times before the Seelie aligned started making changelings?”

“Yes,” Scanlan said. “Your father talks about it like a necessary sacrifice. Like he took a blow for the sake of his court to be balanced. And the archfey in Syngorn were so proud of him for it. But I think even _he_ would grieve, to know is was all manipulation.”

“If he knew, and told his allies, do you think they would help us?” Vex asked. “Would they march against the Briarwood?”

Scanlan seemed saddened.

“I don’t think so,” he said. “They might say aggression in not in their nature. They- they may not even believe me. After all, I am only a gnome.”

“But you’re fey?” Vax said, still ignorant of the more intricate politics in the realm beyond.

“I am not a faerie.”

“Then what can we do?” Vax asked.

“We can still march against the Briarwood,” Vex said. “We will find a way.”

All three of them stared at her. With her passionate expression, lit by the rising sun, it almost seemed believable that she could raise an army on her own. Percy certainly would have followed her.

Then again, he’d been planning to move against the Briarwood by himself. So perhaps he wasn’t the best measure of risk and reward.

“I have a few ideas,” Vex said. “Ways to undermine their authority and push them back. We only need a foothold in their land, and then some help from magic, and perhaps a real battle—a fight with as many allies as we can gather!”

“I know some tactics,” Percy said. “To fight against fey.”

“From your research?” Vax asked.

“Some of it.”

Scanlan’s mouth curled wryly.

“Unlikely to be true, I’m afraid,” he said. “Humans don’t know our secrets in the first place and couldn’t have recorded anything of real value. Only an archfey can push past the magic that binds our tongues and divulge such things.”

Percy felt his cheeks flame red.

“Ah,” he said. “I have made a certain… fey… agreement. I thought my patron to be an ordinary faerie. But he has told me a lot. So perhaps… perhaps he’s an archfey after all.”

“You made an _agreement_?” Vax said, incredulous.

“That’s why you were in the Briarwood!” Vex gasped.

“That’s why you smell of a faerie bond!” Scanlan said. “I had thought it was simply…”

He glanced at Vex. Looked away.

“Listen, I know it was a poor choice,” Percy said. “I thought I was dreaming at the time. But it happened. The deal is made. And it’s worth it to me, if I get justice for my family. It’s worth anything.”

His words hung in the air. Unsteady and desperate, drawing pity from their faces.

“And I’ll fight,” he said. “I’ll make my sacrifices and I’ll fight to defeat the Briarwood. This is my choice.”

Vex looked at her brother. She looked at Scanlan. She looked down at her empty ring finger.

“We understand sacrifice,” she said. “We will fight with you.”

Scanlan mustered a too-bright smile.

“Yeah,” he said. “And we’ll crush the fucking Briarwood to splinters.”

…

Vax wanted to talk to Keyleth right away, so Scanlan said his goodbyes, and the other three set off up the hill to the cottage.

They could hear voices as they approached the door to the kitchen. Two people talking. One in Keyleth’s bright tone, the other in a smooth, low timbre.

“Gilmore’s here!” Vax gasped, freezing in place.

“Shit,” Vex said sympathetically. “You still want to go in?”

There was hesitation in her brother for only a brief, shaky second. Then he nodded, jumping into decision, as always.

“Yes,” he said. “They both deserve to know.”

They continued. Percy called out a quick greeting, asking if Keyleth had a moment for them to talk.

“Of course, of course!” she said. “Come on in. I was giving Gilmore some herbs and he stayed for a cup of tea. You’re just in time.”

She moved over for them and they crowded into the little lean-to kitchen, sitting on the floor, and the steps to the house, and the edge of the hearth.

Vax took a deep breath.

And then he told them. It came out in a slow, shaky stream of consciousness. A stutter here and there. A pause. But Keyleth and Gilmore both waited for him to finish. And Vex thought, perhaps, that was the biggest sign of how well they fit with him. They understood his dramatics and his measured thoughts.

“So, that’s- that’s what I am,” he finished at last. “I’m a changeling.”

Keyleth and Gilmore glanced at each other. Their faces were both soft and fond.

“I know,” Keyleth said gently.

“You _know_?”

“I wake early, Vax. I’ve seen you returning from the forest. And I’ve heard all the rumours. And I, well, I know you. I put things together.”

“She’s very wise,” Gilmore joked.

And Vax laughed.

“You really knew already?” he asked.

“I did.”

“We did,” Gilmore added, “and we don’t mind.”

And then Vax, forgetting any sense of decorum, threw himself forward, one arm around each of his treasured loves, in a tender hug. Keyleth was smiling over his shoulder. She closed her eyes and leaned in close to his neck. Gilmore raised both his big hands and set them gently on Vax’s back, cradling him carefully.

Vex watched them, in all their uncomplicated affection. And she thought; _why can’t I have that?_ And she thought; _why must I be tangled up with Saundor?_

And she looked at Percy, who was watching the hug with an almost inscrutable longing in his face, and she thought; _why can’t I have him?_

“I suppose,” Gilmore said, as they finally pulled back from the embrace. “I should tell you something as well.”

“Yes?”

The confident, silver-tongued merchant looked suddenly shy. Vex had never seen him that way before. But then the reason became clear. Gilmore lifted a ring-heavy hand and gently brushed his fingertips across his forehead. When he pulled away, left in the wake of the touch, there lay a bright, glowing rune. The colour was as vibrant and purple as the clothes he wore, harmonious with his dark skin.

“I am part fey,” he admitted.

They were still, shocked, for there had never been even a rumour about Gilmore.

“My ancestry lies with a distant court, in my home country—the Court of Runes. It was my mother’s mother who was fey, and because magic is more accepted where I come from, she was able to marry a human man. Some of us, in her line of descendants, carry her runic magic. I am one of them.”

“Holy shit,” Vax murmured softly.

He reached out, and when Gilmore didn’t pull away, touched his fingers to the mark on his forehead.

“Well, darling,” Vex said. “I don’t know why we’re surprised. You always were a magical man. It may go without saying, but you get no judgement from us, either.”

She resisted the urge to look behind her and see the expression on Percy’s face. She didn’t think she could cope if he looked scared or disgusted right now.

“Thank you, Vex,” Gilmore said gently.

“I-I can’t help but think,” Vex said. “If you know things about the fey, you may be able to better advise us…”

So, she told them the rest of the story, of the Unseelie taking over, and the battle she planned to start. Percy made hesitant contributions as well, explaining his role in all of it, though he looked ashamed to admit his deal with an archfey.

“Well,” Gilmore said. “That is a bold plan. It saddens me to know that the Unseelie have made such a stronghold here. But it’s a cause worth fighting for. I’ll happily join you.”

“You think it would be possible to defeat them?” Vex asked. “Even without the help of the other courts?”

“Well, we do have magic of our own.”

“Oh, we don’t have much yet,” Vex said. “Our father hasn’t exactly taught us how to use our power to its fullest extent. He said we won’t understand it all until we join a court.”

“That is true,” Gilmore agreed. “However, I was referring to the other magics, held in human hands.”

“What?” Percy said.

“There’s all sorts of ritual magic available to humankind, especially for those, like yourselves, who live so near to fey worlds and doorways.”

“Like what?”

“Well, the main example can be seen in the tokens you create to ward off the fey. Those little trinkets and effigies house mortal magic to counterbalance fey magic. That’s why they work.”

A bubbling laugh escaped Percy. Vex turned to look at him, and saw the horror and shock and painful irony across his features.

“Well,” he said. “That does make us a town of hypocrites, doesn’t it?”

Gilmore’s smile was gentle.

“I’m sure most people have no idea the origins of their rituals,” he said. “Keyleth, are you aware that you use magic?”

“Huh?” Keyleth said.

“In your healing and your connection to nature, I sense a great deal of power. It’s part of the reason you’re so skilled in your work. You harness all the magic of the forest, both human and fey, and make it your own through sheer force of will. I’ve always been impressed.”

“Woah,” Keyleth said, looking down at her hands.

“And what about your friend at church? The Deacon? Pike Trickfoot?”

“ _She_ has magic?” Percy asked.

“Channelled through her deity,” Gilmore said. “I can sense it on her. She has a connection beyond what many have, even the most powerful of religious leaders. Something about her nature has appealed to divine forces, and they’ve gifted her in return. I doubt she would understand it that way, but it can certainly be interpreted as magic.”

“And Grog,” Percy said suddenly, as though realising something. “I remember him telling me about meeting a nymph, once, and I thought that his unnatural strength reminded me of the heroes in stories who receive boons from fey lovers.”

“Indeed,” Gilmore said, smiling softly. “He is a remarkable man. I wouldn’t be surprised.”

As they debated, back and forth, about the forms of magic they could see in the village, Vex saw her plans blooming before her eyes. For the first time, she felt an actual surge of _hope._ There weren’t just going to rage, in futile passion, against the dark forces in the forest. They might actually _get somewhere._

They might make a world with no changelings, where humans and fey could interact and understand one another, and where Percy might see his sister again. They might make a world where the future, for the first time since her mother died, looked hopeful.

“It sounds like we have a chance,” she said out loud. “We should gather forces. We should start training and preparing.” She grinned, confident. “We might win this war.”

…

**The months leading to Harvest Moon.**

They found their core of allies easily, in that first week; Percy, the twins, Keyleth, and Gilmore; Pike and Grog; Kima and Allura and Scanlan.

Then they started planning.

Percy shared his research with them, though he was a little reticent about some of it, worried at how revealing it might be. But they chose not to say anything scornful about his miserable choices. For that, he was grateful.

Their ideas were taking shape. They gathered as many weapons as they could get their hands on that would actually prove effective. Gilmore was useful, walking his merchant routes, and sniffing out rare items. His fey blood was strong enough that he couldn’t even touch the runed blades of iron, but he wrapped them in pretty silks, and snuck them into Whitestone village. Vax stole other things from noble houses.

In the meantime, Percy melted down pieces of silver, some given by their allies, and some brought by their group thief. He wound these into otherwise ordinary arrowheads, gifted to Vex for her bow.

Grog taught them to fight, among the trees in the orchard by Keyleth’s cottage, where the other villagers were unlikely to see them. At night, Scanlan, Allura, and Kima could even join. Kima added her own tips to the methods of combat. It came very naturally to some of them, such as Pike, and came a little harder to others, like the little gnome who, it seemed, had never held a sword before in his life.

And they all worked on their magic. Allura was a wonderful, patient, wise teacher. Gilmore was a little more impulsive and flamboyant. But between the two of them, the whole team developed their skills quickly.

As time passed, they began to cast out a wider net of recruitment.

It began when they brought together some local leaders to share advice on keeping the fey away from the cattle. They figured if they knew how to protect the livestock, it was irresponsible not share. Percy pulled up his front of pompousness and pretended he had found it out through careful research, and they all took him seriously.

He showed them designs of runes that seemed to work against the fey. He handed over a few twisted straw effigies that Pike had managed to weave into shape, strong enough to make Allura bend double with nausea when she was asked to check them.

They all worked. Slowly, the thievery lessened, especially when the moon was close to full, and Unseelie magic was waning. People began to ask how this knowledge had come to them, and Father Wilhand directed them to the new force of adventurers preparing for war.

Jarrett, the handsome guard, was the first to join. Later, more guards followed, as well as toughened farmers, smiths, parents who wanted to protect their families, and people whose cows had been taken already, leaving them in poverty.

At night, fey creatures were also joining, brought by Scanlan and Allura. Almost all of the nymphs were on the team, and a troupe of musicians who used to work as lures until they became disillusioned with the idea of trapping mortals, and a tall, green-skinned man who was obsessed with ducks and devoted to Scanlan. Every one of them was horrified to hear how twisted their world had become.

Recruits even came from far away. One day, Gilmore returned to Whitestone followed by a woman with red skin and horns, and a man who once bound himself to a dangerous fey entity and understood what it was to be trapped.

All the while, as hope flourished among their numbers, Percy and Vex continued to move in orbit.

…

Percy had been very involved in the new war efforts, but he was avoiding the night meetings when the fey creatures gathered. It didn’t matter that they were training and fostering their magic against the Unseelie. He still couldn’t quite trust them. They didn’t need him there anyway. He had no magic to develop; his tools were his mind and his hands.

He did still meet with Orthax though. He continued to strengthen their bond and gather more knowledge. He hadn’t told his patron, at any point, that he was building an army against the Briarwood, but Orthax guessed all on his own. He seemed proud, if a little amused at the idea.

 ** _I am all you need,_** he reminded Percy, **_but I suppose it won’t hurt to guarantee our success._**

“Of course,” said Percy. “It’s a failsafe.”

 ** _Remember though,_** said Orthax, **_you’re not the kind of man who keeps friends. In the long run, they would only hold you back._**

“I know,” said Percy.

**_They are a weakness._ **

“I know.”

**_If they try to draw closer, just remember everything that happened. Remember your family._ **

“I always will.”

Orthax smiled. He grew increasingly solid each time Percy saw him. The outlines of his smoky body became more defined, and sometimes, when the wind shifted them, something like charred bone began to jut out beneath.

It seemed dangerous to even be near him. There was an instinctual shiver in the air, raising hairs on Percy’s neck, as though he were nothing more than a field mouse before the most cunning of predators

He even felt Orthax’s influence when he was far away. His memories caused trembles of anger. His temper rose and plummeted with ease. He hungered for revenge. Dreamed of it. Sometimes, after a particularly bad panic attack, he would think, for just a moment, that it looked like smoke was rising from his body.

He decided not to think too much about it. He would practice his new cognitive dissonance—his thoughts dodging the contradictions in his life—like he did with Vex.

She was much harder to ignore anyway.

One night, when they were walking home from a training session in the forest itself, he ended up beside her, at the rear of the group. She summoned light in her hands, and though he was usually horrified by such arcane displays, he couldn’t help thinking it looked pretty. It was like a smaller, denser, more vibrant sunshine, like the celestial gold of dawn.

“Percy,” she said suddenly, stopping. “Can we talk?”

“Of course.”

He paused with her, allowing the rest to keep moving ahead, lost in conversation.

“Are you alright?” she said.

“Of course,” he repeated. “Our plan is unfolding perfectly. What reason would I have to be upset?”

“I know you’re spending a lot of time with your patron. I know it’s all part of the mission, and we need his advice, and you want to keep up your bond, but I can’t help thinking it may not be the best idea.”

Percy forced his eyes not to drop to the engagement ring she now wore on her finger—the unwanted bond she also kept for the sake of the new plan.

“We need him,” Percy said. “I don’t see why I should back out of my part in this now.”

“Percy, when you come home from meeting him, you always seem so tense. You look like everything is weighing you down.”

“Vex,” he interrupted. “I told you. I’ll do _anything_ to avenge my family.”

“Darling—”

“Anything.”

She looked at him. He tried to read the emotions in her eyes, but, overwhelmed, he had to turn away. His pulse was beginning to burn. He recalled Orthax telling him to remember his family if anyone tried to draw too close, and sure enough, his memories were sweeping over him, his anger surging.

But he knew he couldn’t keep all this inside. Not with Vex. So he let everything pour out of him.

“Do you know what it was like?” he said slowly. “To have my whole family slaughtered? My life used to be nearly perfect. I was the third child, obsessed with my studies and my tinkering, with the future open wide. I was privileged, I will admit, but I was _innocent._ I had never seen someone die before. And then…

“The Briarwood fey trickled down the hill on the dark of the moon. They walked past our tokens like they meant nothing. We only realised then, looking out our windows, that our guest, Ripley, had removed half the barriers. The effective ones, I assume. But it was too late for us to change it. The fey were in our garden. Mother told us to run and drew a duelling blade from the wall. Father sprinted for his crossbow. Vesper got the decorative swords down and handed one to Julius. My-my brother, he hated fighting. But he _tried._ And we younger ones ran.

“The fey weren’t afraid. They killed our guards first, easy as breathing, arrows shot toward the castle. I saw one of the bodies fall. I’d known him since I was a child. On long carriage rides, he told me stories of rare good faeries who left secret boons for clever children.”

Percy’s laugh was pained, derisive. Vex was still listening though, compassion on her face.

“We had burst into the entrance hall by then, but we hadn’t counted on the fey penchant for dramatics. The front door split in two and figures stepped inside. They took out Oliver with a single shot of blue flame, coming from the fingertips of a cold, grim woman. That was the first I saw of her face—Delilah, with her husband, Sylas following close behind—the royal archfey of the Briarwood. They _smiled._

“I had to drag Whitney as we fled, because she was screaming, immobile, having seen her twin brother die in front of her.”

Vex squeezed her eyes shut, nodding her head, imaging the pain of it. For a moment, Percy’s voice dropped away, softened. But the anger rose up in him again, urging him to go on, to ruminate.

“They shot poison and fire after us. I-I barely had time to corral my little siblings in front of me. We aimed for the kitchen, with its side door, thinking it might be our only hope for escape.

“But they got there first. The floor was slick with blood. It-it looked like water, like flooding, until we saw the dead servants, with torn throats and strange beasts crouched over them. I remember dropping hold of Whitney’s arm in shock. She grabbed a knife from the table and _hurled_ it at one of the fey. It bounced straight back.

“She died the instant it plunged into her chest. And I heard, upstairs, the sounds of fire blasting and glass breaking. I heard my mother _scream_ out Vesper’s name. I knew she was gone. Three de Rolos, killed in less than five minutes of panic.”

He clenched his fists tight together, hot tears welling in his eyes. Around him, he felt the heat intensify, over his sternum, his lungs. Making everything else feel deadly _cold._

He saw the first wisps of smoke rise from his heaving chest. He didn’t stop.

“I pulled Cassandra and Lugwig close. He was screaming, sobbing, fists held up in front, like he would fight them all. Always a firecracker. She was watching, with such tired eyes, absorbing it.

“Then Sylas appeared. He’d followed us downstairs without his wife, but of course, he was threat enough on his own. Overhead, my mother screamed again, and I realised I could no longer hear the pull and snap of my father’s creaky, ancient crossbow.

“Sylas just smiled casually. I remember he bent at the knees, trailed his hand through the blood on the floor, and licked it from his fingers. He turned to us and said- said- well, he looked at me, and at Cassandra, and he said; ‘these two have a potential for magical connection.’ And then he looked at Ludwig and said, ‘not this one.’”

Percy squeezed his eyes shut, heaving out a half-sob. Smoke billowed up to his ears. He didn’t want to look at Vex’s face and see if she had noticed. He wasn’t entirely sure if the effect came from imagination or reality.

“He picked up my brother by the throat. I acted on instinct—not bravery, because I no longer cared much about my own life—and I launched forward. It was a joke. Sylas was too powerful for me. He slapped me across the face, and I passed out.

“When I woke, I was tied up with Cassandra, watched over by some of the fey. Sylas had gone to help his wife secure the castle. The fey were rooting through the kitchen. I looked at my sister and knew that the rest of our family were dead already, simply by the expression on her face. I-I was at a loss for what to do next. But she was so clever. She waited for them to be absorbed by the discovery of venison in the pantry and scooted a little closer. I saw her hands were already unbound. She sliced through my bonds with a knife. She told me in a whisper that I’d only been out for ten minutes and the side door was unlocked. She counted down from five.

“And then we ran. We ran as fast as we possibly could. Everything’s still a blur, in my mind. But I remember glancing at Cass, so bright and vital at my side, nose scrunched in determination, blood streaked across her dress. I remember the arrow that caught her in the back—the way she jerked and jolted and fell. I remember the spatter of red in the snow. I remember- I- I—”

Percy cried out in agony. He grasped fistfuls of his hair.

“I thought she was dead!” he shouted. “I kept _going!_ I _left_ her!”

“You couldn’t have known,” Vex said, speaking softly, for the first time since he started telling the story.

“I could have tried to check. I could have been a better brother. A better son. Surely, I could have saved them somehow.”

“Percy, it’s not your fault.”

Black smoke swirled higher, across his eyes, into his mouth.

“It doesn’t even matter that she lives,” he said. “She still experienced it all. They still destroyed the living de Rolo children as badly as the family they killed.”

Vex reached out for him, but he stumbled back, not wanting to see her strong hand meet the dark cloud he carried with him.

“I would do the same to the Unseelie, don’t you see? I don’t care what the price is! I don’t mind any pain! I would tear their heads off with my bare hands if I had the power. I would _annihilate_ all traces of the Briarwood. No mercy. No survivors. They _chose_ to do this to me. They made me what I am. Now, their souls are forfeit!”

With those words, the smoke erupted in earnest. It pooled across the ground around him, and choked the air, and in the back of Percy’s mind, he heard ominous laughter.

Vex stepped through the darkness. Like a nymph emerging from the surface of a lake. The curve of her face cleared the smoke. Her eyes were somehow holding warmth, even amongst all the shadow. Her hair floated long and dark and magical.

And she frowned.

She reached out, sturdy fingers emerging from fog, marked by her archer’s calluses. So very _Vex._ So very _real._

She took hold of the front of his coat and pushed him, firm, against the solid tree trunk behind, the confident weight of her leaned against him. Determination filled her gaze as she looked at him, eyes skirting his features.

Percy felt himself melt into her touch. His breathing returned. His anger was slipping away through his fingers.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

He considered the question.

“I feel cruel,” he answered at last. “But in control.”

She seemed sceptical. But the smoke was dispersing, as though it had been nothing more than a figment conjured by his tormented mind.

“I’m fine,” he repeated. And then, because he couldn’t lie to her. “For now. You’ll know if I’m not.”

“I will,” she said. And her voice left absolutely no room for doubt.

…

Vex hated the things she had to do to keep the fey fooled.

She and Vax attended events with her father, and mingled until they were exhausted, while she tried to ignore the horrible, burrowing thought that these people could have committed any number of evils for the sake of “balance.”

Her father was happy, too. It seemed like this was the best time in his life. He was glad to see his children making friends in the fey world, and glad that Vex was still pursuing the Harvest Moon hunt, and glad that Vax was talking about what place he might find in the courts.

Plus, his new wife was pregnant, and that made Syldor very pleased.

The other portion of Vex’s duty was paid in events with Saundor. She had chosen to string along their engagement for as long as possible, to better cement the certainty that she was going to join the fey, to gain more social influence, and to keep an eye on the movements of the enemy.

As much as possible, Vex chose to meet him on even ground in the Court of Frost. But sometimes, she had to go to a celebration in the Briarwood. 

She couldn’t stand the actual festivities, with all their dark horror. She convinced her fiancé to walk with her in the forest instead, as though she wanted him to herself, and they spoke of inconsequential things. But she always felt his eyes on her, too intense.

Sometimes, they also practised with their bows and arrows. In those moments, she could forget his presence a little, and let the world fade away to the tension of her bowstring and the target ahead.

Saundor’s bow was beautiful. It was curved wood and vine, and named, as one would expect of such a pretentious man. Fenthras, he called it, rooted in the fey words for “protection” and “growth.” But if the weapon ever stood for such things, it had become twisted in the hands of its master.

He was a decent shot. That was the most positive thing Vex could say about him.

But even when engaged in her favourite activity, she was crawling with discomfort. She looked forward to the end of the night, when she must endure only a touch of his lips to the back of her hand, and then she could melt back into the trees, and escape home to Whitestone village.

She saw Cassandra at those Briarwood feasts as well, yet she avoided her in public, gaze skirting by as though she didn’t know her at all.

She summoned her in the forest a few times to talk alone instead.

Cassandra seemed to be on board with the plan to destroy the Briarwood. She told Vex the occasional secret, hedged and hesitant as she was, and she listened with interest to hear what Percy was up to. Traces of hope spread over her features.

She was a key part of their plan now. Vex needed her to gain spoken, magically bound assurance that the Briarwood royals planned to make her their heir. The moment she had the assurance, she was guaranteed ownership of the castle under fey law, should Sylas and Delilah be killed. It was a safety-net beneath the wings of their rebellion.

But Vex, accustomed to striving for approval from cold, distant people, knew there was one risk in the plan. The moment the fey accepted Cassandra as their heir would be the very moment it became hardest for her to betray them.

Yet she chose to have faith.

If she could take hold of her own life and make it better, she had to hope this young woman could do the same. They would overcome their trauma in unity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed! i've been loving your comments, please continue to tell me what you think


	7. i'll crawl home to her

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> final chapter and a thousand strings tying together... i hope you like it!

**Harvest Moon, Full Moon, midday.**

The day had arrived. The soothing breezes of autumn poured through the little valley, licking vibrant warm colour into the leaves, ready to shake the branches bare in all the regular, unmagical parts of the forest. 

And Vex was ready.

She stood in the bedroom with her brother, in front of the bed that their whole family used to share, back when their mother still lived. Vax was fussing about, painting markings of gold on her face. It was a fey tradition, before a hunt like this. Usually, her father would do it, but Syldor had backed down and let his son take over, exhausted by the very idea of fighting for the right. He didn’t care enough about expressing private affection. So long as the paint was there, he was happy.

“It’s awfully cold,” Vex complained.

“Shh,” Vax tipped up her chin. His brow was scrunched in the funny, focused expression that’d marked his concentration since he was a child.

“You’re really doing this?” Vax asked.

“Yes.” She resisted the urge to scratch the bridge of her nose. “It’s all part of the plan.”

“There’s still months to go before the Winter Solstice,” Vax said. “We can still think of another way. One that doesn’t require you to marry that—”

“Vax, darling,” Vex sighed, “we’re not backing out now.”

“But—”

“We’re all making sacrifices,” she added.

She looked at him sternly, thinking of Keyleth and Gilmore and how much Vax liked them both, and how he’d put it all on hold, because the future was so uncertain right now.

“I remember calling you selfish once,” Vax blurted suddenly. “I hope you don’t remember.”

She didn’t confirm it. He didn’t need to know that the word haunted her—that many people thought she was selfish and greedy and arrogant.

“It was soon after mum died,” Vax explained, “and you started taking care of the money. I needed a new cloak, so I asked you if I could buy one. You refused. I was _so_ angry. We had always been able to afford good fabric, for a once-a-year treat, so I assumed you were being petty.”

She kept her expression neutral. She had allowed him to think she was being petty more than once. Better that he think she hoarded gold than lie awake at night and lose as much sleep as she did, counting coins in her head.

“But I snuck out of bed that night to steal what I wanted,” Vax continued. “When I opened the purse, I realised, for the first time, how little we had. You’d recently sold your first rabbit. That money, along with a few coppers, was all we had. It was barely enough to keep us going for a week. All your hard work out in the cold, and your splinted fingers from making your bow, and you did it for me? I got to reap the rewards?”

“Vax, that’s what any sister—”

“Bullshit. I went back to bed and held you close and you stopped frowning in your sleep. I knew I had to protect you in all ways, Vex. I knew you’d be embarrassed if I talked about it. So I just vowed to try harder and be better and do anything for you.”

“I’d do anything for you too,” she said softly.

I know.” Vax grinned at her. “You’re not selfish.”

“I am a little—”

“No.” He shook his head. “You’re giving up everything for this village when most of its inhabitants treated you with nothing but suspicion. You’re trying to earn us the security we never had.”

“We’re all working together,” she said.

“But it was your plan.” Her brother’s eyes were as dark and sincere as her own. “And you’re the one who’s about to win this hunt. Mum would be proud.”

Vex stiffened.

“Not because of the prestige and the court position and all that rubbish that father cares about,” he continued. “But because of your skill. You taught yourself how to do this when we were on the brink of starvation. You worked hard at it and came home with stiff muscles and messy kills and you _kept going_ until you perfected it. All their fey symbolism means fuck-all, in the end, because it was _your_ determination that got you to this point.”

“Thanks,” Vex mumbled.

“I’m proud too, stubby,” Vax added.

And before she could respond, he splodged one last dollop of gold to the tip of her nose and ducked out of her reach.

“Vax!” She tried to grab his arm. “It’s not supposed to look like that!”

He’d already got to the door. He rolled his eyes.

“When have we ever done what we’re supposed to?”

…

Vex stood in the line of hunters with paint glittering at the tip on her nose, on the edges of her vision, and waited for the queen to make her rounds. She had Trinket with her, of course. Our here, he was considered a true companion, who was as much a feature of her hunting style as her boots and bow.

Queen Salda walked at a measured pace, greeting the champions she knew well before moving on to new arrivals. She held herself high and proud. Her crown was tipped with the gleam of starlight, and her smile was serene. She was at peace here, knowing the night would bring out the Harvest Moon, the festival over which she alone presided. Even her husband, King Uriel took a back seat for the hunt.

“Vex’ahlia,” Queen Salda said at last, stopping before her. “Welcome to the celebration.”

“Thank you, my Queen,” Vex said, dipping a low bow, as she had been taught, though it grated on her already. In the human world, she had offered such deference to no one.

“Your father tells me you turn twenty-two very soon. And your brother as well?”

“We do, your radiance.”

“An auspicious age to return to the Faerie Forest. Twin sets of two. You join my hunt to win a place for both of you?”

“Yes, your radiance.”

“I will tell you, due to your father’s position, you would both get a place in the court anyway. Did you know this?”

“Yes, your radiance.”

“So you must be seeking greater honours,” she said musingly. “You cannot be titled under your father’s name. He gave up that right when he sacrificed you to changeling status.”

“He told me, your radiance.”

“So, you hope the hunt might be a chance to earn such a title?” She had a strange fond distance in her voice, a little condescending.

“Yes, your radiance.”

“You must be excellent with bow and arrow, to place such an expectation on your own shoulders. I admire your courage.”

“Thank you, your radiance.”

The queen nodded. Then, as Syldor had predicated, she offered some promises.

“If you keep up with the hunters today, I will consider a place for you with my scouts. A job, but not a title. If you aid well in the capture and killing of our prize, I will look into positions among rangers or strategists, the lower ranks among my advisory group. And,” her eyes sparkled with a touch of humour, “if you somehow deal the final blow on the golden doe, you will be raised to high nobility.”

“Thank you, your radiance.”

“The only other way to achieve such a shift in status would be by marriage,” Queen Salda said.

Vex tried not to flush, knowing that her back-up plan was plain in the ring on her finger.

“I hope you cope, Vex’ahlia,” the Queen finished. “You seem a uniquely cunning, driven young faerie.”

And before Vex could thank her one more time, she spun, and walked up to her throne.

She looked down on her gathered hunters. Some had mounts, while others planned to move on foot. Some were the smallest of pixies, with wings that would help them navigate the trees. Others were hunched trolls made of rock and dirt. All must have wanted something from this. And all were higher status that Vex, the changeling unattached to any court, whom the Queen had come to last.

She gripped her bow a little tighter.

There were speeches first. Leadership was assigned and starting locations suggested for different groups of hunters. A few ceremonial weapons were given to the favoured ones. Then, with a last rising song from some of the nymphs, the signal was given for them to make their way off into the forest.

For a while, Vex moved with a group. They splayed out over the area they were given and sought signs of large animals passing through. They began to track a herd of deer to the east.

Hunting the golden doe was complicated though. Every year, she appeared in a different place, reborn from a pool of magic that circulated round the forest. Often, she joined herds of ordinary deer. Sometimes, she wandered alone. She was rumoured to be a creature of fate, only ever caught by the one destined to catch her, and always searching for something, as though her soul was in cycle.

So, seeing no signs that the herd of deer they followed was anything more than ordinary, some people began to split off. Vex did the same.

She asked Trinket if he could find a scent. It took a while, but once he did, she swung onto his back and let him take her forward, his gentle paws padding against the leaf mulch on the ground.

“Look, darling,” she whispered. “Something’s made a home here.”

She climbed off her bear and crouched low to examine the ground. Overhead, coniferous trees spread their branches, giving good shelter. There were faint hoof tracks imprinted into the moss.

Trinket sniffed alongside her. He seemed interested. Vex nudged his face aside and saw a collection of small hairs.

“Oh, not golden,” she sighed. “Just white.”

But Trinket exhaled, and the hairs were blown aside by the puff of breath, spinning and catching the light and—

“Oh!” Vex said. She grasped hold of one, turning it against the sun.

It wasn’t gold, but it wasn’t white either. It was silver. The sort of shining silver that one usually found only in metallic substances.

“What’s that about?” she asked Trinket.

He nosed the footprints, which vanished off into denser trees. She nodded, stepping ahead of him, and leading the way.

The hooves were hard to spot once the moss gave way to stone, lichen, and compact earth, but here and there little indents appeared. Vex saw the brush ahead parting, giving way to a small hill, and a cliffside. She followed along the edge of it, hugging the rock with her body, to be better hidden against the landscape. Trinket followed slower, further behind, so he wouldn’t frighten anything away.

And then she saw it—right where the cliff edge dipped toward the stream—the sparkling rump of a large creature bent over to drink its fill.

“Trinket, fade,” she whispered, and her bear backed up into the bushes, out of sight.

Vex moved forward. An enormous head lifted from the surface of the water, still facing away from her, and she saw the set of antlers on its head. A stag!

He scanned the trees across the stream, sniffing the air, as though seeking something. His posture was tall and regal, but lonely. The sun was lowering in the sky by now, and drops of water gleamed across his shimmering, silver fur. He was unreal. Like a piece of art made living. Like something formed of pure magic.

Vex crouched lower. This wasn’t her intended quarry. In fact, she’d never heard of such a creature before, but she figured the sight of a silver stag must mean _something._

She pulled out her bow. Knocked an arrow. Watched.

A sudden shuffle came from across the water. She tensed, expecting competition, and the silver stag stiffened, his ears flicking toward the sound. But from the trees stepped another animal.

A golden doe.

Her fur shone as warm and bright as it did in legend, like a sun to offset his eery, bright moon. Her eyes were dark and thickly lashed. Her feet sprung nimbly across the ground, to the edge of the water. Directly opposite the stag, she lowered her head, and lapping with a scarlet tongue.

The wind rustled the trees, whirring through the tiny grove where the stream ran. It collected warm leaves and swirled them in a circle, around the doe and the stag. When she had finished drinking, the doe waded forward into the water. The silver deer followed quickly, his steps churning whorls in the surface of the brook.

Vex knew this was her best chance. The animals were distracted by one another, and her target was in plain sight. Yet something held her back—their beauty, their longing, their sense of absolute _belonging,_ out under the sky.

She watched them reach each other, then gasped, as they jerked to a stop the moment before their noses touched.

The stag let out a grunt. The doe tried to lift her toes and push nearer. They strained, as if held back by ropes, yet Vex could see nothing preventing their connection. While she stared, she heard the sadness blossoming in their cries.

She remembered the legends about the golden doe, always seeking something. She glanced back, to make sure Trinket was still in place. Then she straightened.

The doe jerked in surprise, spotting her. The stag turned its head as well. He would be dangerous, should he protest to her approach, with that crown of antlers on his head. Yet some instinct told Vex not to worry. Something felt _right_ about this moment.

She walked toward them. They were still. Watching. Waiting.

She swung her bow back onto her back and returned the arrow to the quiver. Her eyes scanned the area, looking for barriers. The sensory aspects of fey magic already came easy to her—the skills that helped her mark targets, and create lights, and spot hidden things. So, she took a breath, connected with the earth beneath her boots, and exhaled in an arcane stream.

Before her very eyes, something lit up. There were two long strings tied around the chests of the deer, like red ribbon made from magic. The strings were pulled taught, holding them back, a mere fingers-width from touching.

“You poor things,” she murmured. “You want to be together, huh?”

The golden doe dipped its head in a nod.

“Let me see if I can work this out,” she said.

She laid a palm on the flank of the silver stag. Instead of bucking her away, his eyes slid closed. She tried to extend her consciousness, the way Allura had been teaching her, and sure enough, she found the swell of his breath, his beating heart, and—there!—the magic that bound him.

Vex tugged at it with her willpower. She wrestled with its complexity. There were layers and layers of things built up in the spell, beyond her understanding. Thousands of years of tense history and pain and twisted magic and yearning. Personal and collective. Something pushed apart these ancient hearts. She was overwhelmed by it.

But then she reached further into her own soul. She found the determination right at her centre. She found her cutting tongue and her quick movements and her own sharp eyes, which were fey, in their observations, and human, in their emotions. And she took all of it and lashed out toward the barrier before her.

With a snap and shower of sparks, the arcane strings shattered. Twists of red fell away into the water, and the stag and doe surged toward each other, touching noses, then nuzzling closer, his neck tucked over hers.

_Generations have passed,_ whispered a soft, tender voice in Vex’s mind. _Lifetimes have gone by. Every year, I look for him, and when we cannot touch, I flee so he will not be killed. Every year, the fey kill me, and I must make myself again in time for the next Harvest Moon, while he hides. We waited for you._

“Me?” Vex asked, amazed to hear the voice so clear, to know it was coming from this creature.

_For someone in this forest brave enough to bridge the gap, and pass the wards of this grove, and choose love over everything she was faced with._

The doe stepped away from the stag, and both dipped their heads to bow to Vex.

 _Come,_ she said. _Over the years, we have become legends. Now that we meet again, you have fulfilled our the end of our story. Let us tell the court._

“They may kill you,” Vex said.

She felt the impression of laughter. A glance passed between the deer.

_They will not be able to now. Look around._

Vex turned, and saw that, when she broke the arcane ropes, her own weapons had been repelled away from the power of these creatures. She tried to pick up her hunting knife, but the moment the doe stepped toward her, it flew away again.

“I see,” Vex said.

 _Give your weapons to your bear,_ the doe said. _Climb onto my back. We will walk you to the court together._

…

Percy, Keyleth, and Kima had gone to the Harvest Moon celebration in the Court of Syngorn. According to Scanlan, it wasn’t so uncommon that they would draw eyes. Plenty of mortals liked the wild abandon of a faerie party.

Though the fey probably thought it was a little strange that Percy wasn’t dancing.

He sat a table in the back corner, looking for signs of returning figures, stomach churning with worry, thinking of Vex. The hunt had begun just after midday, and now the sun was setting. He was anxious to see her face again. After spending so much time with her, it was no longer possible for Percy to pretend he didn’t feel _something_. The attachment was there, in the pit of his stomach.

At one point, he thought he felt a ripple of intense _emotion_ spin through his entire body. A flash of silver behind his lids. His head jerked up, but he saw nothing to indicate a reason for distress. He tried to loosen his shoulders again.

Scanlan, Kima, Allura, Vax, and Keyleth all came past to check on him regularly. Somewhere in the forest beyond, Pike and Grog were waiting with the rest of the human army, ready for the signal to move. He _knew_ he was supported. But it wasn’t helping.

Suddenly, there was a loud shout from the trees. A scout flew back into the clearing and whispered something to Queen Salda. She immediately turned to Uriel.

The royal couple rose to their feet.

A group of hunters emerged, looking stunned, as though their lives had transformed before their eyes. None carried weapons. Some sang a haunting melody that rose the hairs on Percy’s neck.

As if taking their cue, fey from the dance floor and the tables began to sing the same tune. They whispered excitedly. Percy heard one say that there had been no cause for this melody since their grandparent’s generation.

Then the end of the procession emerged from the trees.

The golden doe was alive. Vex was on her back, sitting proud, shining light radiating from the fur beneath her thighs and the markings on her face and the smile she wore. Beside her, a second creature walked. A stag of gleaming silver, crown of antlers like jewellery atop his skull.

“Fuck,” Scanlan gasped. “They’re _real._ ”

“What?” Percy asked. “I thought the golden doe was caught every year—”

“Her mate has never been seen. We thought he was myth. Generations ago, they gave up trying to find him and began the tradition of the hunt. We- we didn’t know. We—when they’re united, legend says they cannot be killed. They are powerful. The one who brings them together is meant to be turned into our Dawn Champion. I- I didn’t think I would ever see…”

He was unable to continue. His jaw was as slack as the other fey. As though under a trance, he joined the song, the lovely harmony of his voice raising up over the crowd.

After that, things were unbearably still and serious.

Vex came to a stop before the royal archfey of the Court of Syngorn, and Salda and Uriel greeted her warmly, proudly, as though she were one of their own. They spoke with her in hushed tones, hearing the story of her achievements. They spoke with the deer too, responding to voices inaudible to anyone else.

“As our customs state,” Queen Salda said. “Vex shall now be raised to the title of Dawn Champion, protector of peace in the valley. She will advise my husband and I directly. She will command our army. She will defend the rights of the weak and lead the lost from the darkness to the light of day.”

Vex looked stunned. Percy felt his heart soar. He couldn’t help the smile that rose to his face. If anything, it seemed a small honour for her. It seemed no more than what she deserved.

“Wait!” a voice cried out. “Not so quickly!”

The already quiet crowd plunged into even deeper, shocked silence.

A figure pushed his way forward from the back. Percy recognised him instantly, despite never having seen him before. Tall and bound up in tree-bark armour and marked with a tall noble crown above his yellow eyes. This was Saundor. Vex’s betrothed.

“Lord Saundor,” Queen Salda said, surprised. “Archfey of the Briarwood. It is rare to see you attend a celebration in our court.”

“I come to support my fiancée,” he said ominously, offering a lazy smile. “Vex, will you get down?”

Vex laid a hand on the doe before she obeyed. She spoke directly into her ear. The golden creature seemed to answer her. It dipped slightly, and she slid gently to the ground. She was so much shorter than Saundor, but she was almost glowing with power today, and she looked a thousand times larger than he was.

“Yes, Saundor?”

He turned back to the royals.

“Our laws are intricate,” he said. “You know this as well as I, your radiance.”

“Yes.”

“And the person who gains the title of Dawn Champion must _already_ hold another title. That is how the magic is bound. To prevent the unqualified tricking their way to higher ranks.”

Queen Salda’s brow furrowed.

“You are right,” she said. “But we can give her another title first, due to her hard work in the hunt, and then raise her as Champion.”

“Yet she has fulfilled none of the laws you laid before her,” Saundor said. “To keep up with the hunters meant only a job, not a title, so her overtaking them means nothing. To be titled on the lower levels required her to help in the ‘capture and killing’ of the doe. She has not done that. Lastly, for high titles, you asked that she deal the killing blow. This, too, she has not done.”

Salda wore an expression of deep commiseration. It seemed almost overly played out. Percy’s eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“But I reunited them!” Vex said. “I brought them here!”

“Yet he is right,” Queen Salda said. “You have no title.”

Now, Vax launched forward through the crowd. His fists were clenched tight. His sister shot him a warning look.

“How can your laws be so limited? What do they say, exactly?” he demanded.

“The position of Dawn Champion,” said Queen Salda. “May go only to an archfey, or to a faerie with a title.”

“We do have a conundrum on our hands,” King Uriel agreed.

“But—” Vax began.

“Step back, brother,” said Saundor. “Before you embarrass yourself.”

Vax sputtered, looking as though he wanted to hit him. But his father came up as well, and took him by the arm, whispering something in his ear. Vax still looked furious, but he did nothing.

So, Saundor turned to Vex, and extended his hand, long fingers open like the greedy teeth of a bear trap.

The deer both shifted behind the arguing fey. The doe stomped her front foot, restless. Yet neither tried to intervene. They were creatures of the forest and had no real part in law.

“Marry me today,” Saundor said, “like we always planned. Then you will be titled, and you can claim your new role.”

Percy had known, logically, that this was always part of the plan. Saundor’s hand was the fall-back on which Vex would rest to gain further favour in the ranks of this magical society.

He had _not_ expected the effect it would have on him in this moment.

Sudden desperate protest swamped his entire body, flooding his chest, choking him at the throat. His pulse thundered in his ears. His thoughts whirled fast through his mind. Before he had a chance to think—to hesitate—he lurched forward. He shoved through the crowd without heed, shaking off the hand that Keyleth reached out to catch his coat.

The fey parted, pinning him with curious glances, but he pushed on. He stormed right up to the front. Syldor was saying something, encouraging his daughter to accept the promises that Saundor offered, and not to cast away the honour this could bring to the family, after all the ways she had ‘complicated things’ in the past.

“Excuse me!” Percy said.

The powerful beings all turned to look at him. He drew himself up, smoothing his coat, feeling rather fragile and mortal and foolish.

“She is already titled,” he said.

“What?” asked Saundor.

“I’m sorry?” said Queen Salda.

Even Vex and Vax were staring at him like he’d gone mad.

“Sorry, your radiance,” Percy said. “But allow me to introduce myself. I am Lord Percival de Rolo of Whitestone, Lady Vex’ahlia has already had honours bestowed on her by me.”

As they gaped at him, he wracked his brains, trying to remember which titles might be open. He latched on to one quickly—it had belonged to a noblewoman who had been killed by fey, close to when his own parents died, meaning they’d had no time to replace her.

“She is the Baroness of the Third House of Whitestone and Grand Mistress of the Grey Hunt.” He turned to Syldor with cold eyes. “So, good sir, despite your relationship with her, do mind your manners.”

Syldor looked speechless. Saundor looked like he wanted to rip someone’s limbs off. Preferably Percy’s. Percy very carefully avoided meeting Vex’s eye. He was afraid of what he might see there, and he needed to hold onto his confident front.

“This is a human title,” Queen Salda began. “I’m not sure—”

“If you will forgive me, your radiance, I heard your law quite clearly. You said ‘a faerie with a title.’ Not necessarily a title in the faerie world, but simply a faerie who holds any title at all.”

A hesitant, hopeful cheer rose up from the gathered fey.

Queen Salda looked shocked. Her eyes darted around. She saw the popularity Vex held, having made legend come to life before the eyes of her court. She saw anger radiating only from Saundor, who was of the Briarwood. And she nodded.

“Indeed,” she said. “It would seem we have a new Dawn Champion. My dear, will you accept these honours?”

“I will,” Vex said immediately, voice ringing clear with confidence. “I will be your champion.”

And she took off her ring and tossed it into Saundor’s hands.

Percy dared to look at her. He saw her with her chin high and her smile carved deep in the lines of her face and the depths of her eyes. He saw her fond, proud, unapologetic joy. She met his gaze and blinked slow, a silent thanks, before turning to the roaring crowd, lifting her arms overhead, and soaking in the sound of their applause.

…

“This is an affront!” yelled Saundor.

Vex turned back from the cheering audience and saw the rage covering his face. Beneath it, something bitter trembled, like a bulb erupting to rotten fruit. A sense of being unwanted and unneeded.

“You in this Court play with fey law!” he snapped. “You bring shame on magic! The Briarwood will not take kindly to this news!”

“Saundor—”

“I will see you later,” he hissed.

And he swept away into the trees. The few guests from the Briarwood followed after him, twisting through the dance floor and away. They would report back to the enemy. They might even launch an attack.

Vex, suddenly feeling very short on time, spun back to the crowd.

“Listen!” she called. “As your new champion, I have grave news to share with you all. Something has gone wrong in the forest, and has been wrong for a while. Some of this news comes from the deer, who tell me their return is supposed to herald peace. Some of this news comes from my friends, who have been exploring a mystery recently…”

In her loud, bold voice, she told them everything she knew about the evils of the Briarwood and the infiltration of the Council of Elders, and the army she had been gathering for months.

Her fey allies stepped forward and supported her story. Scanlan went off running to fetch the human forces waiting in the trees. Suddenly, every plan was springing into action. Suddenly, they were tumbling toward their confrontation with the Briarwood.

And Vex’s head was reeling. She wanted to drag Percy into a corner and talk about her title. Instead, she stood before the forces of an army she now commanded, speaking with the voice of the Dawn Champion.

Her pulse seemed to beat with the speed of footsteps, and she thought about the Brairwood fey, running home to prepare the enemy.

Luckily, the whole magical, mythical atmosphere of the evening had the Court of Syngorn in its grasp. They were enthusiastic in response to her call to arms. They were seething with fury. The hunters went back for their weapons in the woods. Others dashed off to summon their own and collect their mounts. They went to put on armour.

As usual, many members of the Court of Frost were also present. These soon gathered around Allura and the nymphs. They linked hands and put out a magical call, asking the rest of their Court for a meeting, which was quickly accepted.

“We will meet with them,” Allura said, “and return.”

Vax stepped forward.

“I’ll come too,” he said. “To speak on behalf of my sister.”

“Vax—”

“You have a lot to arrange,” he said. “I’ll see you back at the village!”

“Okay.”

She let him go.

…

Percy was bursting with emotion, like everything in his chest was unravelling at once. He had leapt forward with such desperation, needing to provide Vex a second option, unable to stand seeing her tied to an evil man whom she hated, unable to stand the thought of her unhappiness. He had watched her take charge with such courage. He had watched a whole community swept away by her charm.

He knew, at last, just how deep his love for her ran—into eternity and defying all fear.

He wasn’t exactly surprised by the realisation. It felt as though he was always meant to adore her, and slowly, time had brought him to that rightful place. Now he would do whatever her could for her, fighting by her side.

Vex beckoned him closer as she began to lead the small army out into the forest. The human forces joined them, looking uneasily at their new allies. But they had been briefed in training about the involvement of some fey. They’d even met Allura and heard her sincere efforts to help them, so many of their fears were dampened.

“How do you feel?” Vex asked.

She looked at the crossbow in Percy’s hands, and his full quivers of silver bolts hanging on his hip, crafted to Orthax’s instruction.

“I feel… prepared.”

“Good,” she said softly.

Percy wondered if it was just his imagination, or if she was glowing brighter than before. Perhaps something to do with the deer. He wanted to ask how she had found them, but there was no time. They were rushing into everything so fast.

“Thank you,” she said suddenly. “For what you did. It was clever.”

“It was real,” he said. “In case you thought it was just a ruse. It’s a real title. I will give it to you. I couldn’t think of anyone better. In fact, you might be too good for it.”

She smiled, soft. “Thank you, Percy.”

…

**The day after Harvest Moon, Dawn**

As the sun rose, the forces from the Court of Frost met the others near the village church, on the road heading north. The sight of them was bizarre—animals and fey and two giants formed of ice and snow, emerging in the middle of the ordinary human world. 

Vex had thought that very little could still surprise her, but the sheer volume of them stopped her in her tracks.

The Raven Queen had not come in person, yet she’d sent hunters and magicians and wolves and warriors. Vax marched out at the front, heading straight for his sister. His smile was broad, but some tight worry hid behind it. Allura and Kima came alongside him, hands clasped.

“How did you get so many?” Vex gasped.

“It’s most of their army,” Vax said.

“But the Court of Frost is neutral,” Scanlan said. “Individuals like the nymphs can choose to fight, but the army? How’d you—”

“It doesn’t matter,” Vax said.

“But how—”

“We need to leave,” he said. “We don’t have much time.”

Yet Vex stayed where she was, looking at him, waiting for the truth. It must have been bad, if he didn’t want to tell them.

One of the fey stepped forward behind him. Long ears rose out of his mane of red hair and his green eyes had a certain glow. He must have been an archfey. The way Allura dipped her head in acknowledgement confirmed it.

“Perhaps I can clear things up,” he said with a smile.

“Artagan,” Vax said warningly.

And Vex realised she knew who this was. The year before, Vax had a fling with an archfey. It had been a causal, no-strings-attached relationship defined by kinky sex, which her brother had enjoyed, but never followed further. They’d parted on good terms. Artagan didn’t like commitment anyway.

He was also a notorious gossip. Which meant he was definitely about to fill them in on whatever Vax wanted to avoid.

“Your brother made a deal with the Raven Queen,” said Artagan. “Very brave. Very interesting. She let him borrow most of our forces.”

Vex’s jaw dropped.

“ _Vax,_ ” she said.

“Please don’t worry about it,” he said quickly. “Look, Vex, they’re all waiting on your command. We need to go. We can’t give the Briarwood too much time to prepare.”

His eyes flicked guiltily to Keyleth and Gilmore, and then away again. She wanted to say a thousand different things, and yet, she knew he was right, and there was no time to do so.

“We’ll talk later,” she said.

Vax nodded, dread already written all over his face.

And off they went.

Their army wasn’t subtle. A muddle of humans and fey creatures from two different courts, many likely holding their own agendas, all stumbled through the forest far louder than the silent fey forces spoken of in stories.

But it didn’t matter. The enemy already knew they were coming.

They drew up just short of the edge of the Briarwood—the new edge, just beyond the old location of the gates of Whitestone Castle, tangled as it was with thorns and dense, tangled vines. Their forces drew in close. Vex gave out orders through some spell of Allura’s, passing news on the breeze directly into the ears she intended to share it with. Ranged fighters spread wide, protected by a few swordsmen at each end. Chargers came forward. Pixies waited to pass messages to different groups.

The sound of a hunting horn rang out through the forest.

“That’s not ours,” said Scanlan.

Suddenly, the trees erupted with shouting. Arrows punctuated the thick brush ahead. The Seelie force reacted quickly, and metal clashed together as figures began to emerge. Vex spun on her heel, preparing an arrow, pressing forward. She felt the shimmer as the glamour lifted off her, revealing her faerie features. She felt Percy on one heel, Pike on the other.

The plants in the Briarwood were deeply packed compared to the rest of the forest. Once she got between them, sounds dampened, and her breath felt louder. Her ears twitched, listening for feet ahead. She heard a bowstring twang and dodged an arrow. It bounced off Pike’s shield over her shoulder.

She took aim with her own bow and let fly as soon as she saw movement. Her target cried out in pain. She sank into the rhythms of battle.

Vex moved with Pike and Percy, Trinket right behind them. Occasionally she caught sight of her brother with another group in an adjoining passage, or heard Grog’s roar from the other side, or felt the distant stomp of ice giant feet. Sometimes, the shape of the undergrowth forced her to lead her team east or west. But mostly, they pushed on to the north—to the castle.

They encountered enemies on the way, stationed at defendable points, taking advantage of their home territory. There were gargoyles and gnomes and faeries, ogres and pixies, the occasional animal, some malformed by dangerous magic.

Her sleeves soon became torn, a deep gash along her arm. Her cheek was sliced by the urgency of shooting. Her feet were caked with mud. When she glanced over her shoulder, she saw her allies in a similar state, and saw Trinket’s muzzle painted red with blood. Minutes were ticking slowly by, broken up by terrible, anticipatory silence and sudden rushes of battle.

At one point, a little pixie managed to escape them, flitting away over the tops of the trees, and Vex knew word of her location would be passed on.

Sure enough, she heard crashes and cries ahead. She _felt_ ripples of magic in the air.

They reached a sudden opening in the bracken up ahead. They slowed, approaching with caution, and found themselves in a clearing of sorts, large enough that their paths met back up with those of their closest allies.

“Hello, darlings,” Vex said to them. “This seems suspicious.”

Gilmore sighed. “Oh, we are definitely about to be amb—”

Faeries burst from nearby hiding places, yelling in fury.

“Predictable,” Percy sighed.

He lifted his crossbow.

The fight raged hotter than any of the ones before. Vex wondered if the Briarwood fey had staggered their forces, unbothered if the less important, weaker ones died first, to slow down the approaching army.

She felt buoyed by the movements of her friends, seeing that they worked well together. She jerked her head sideways, asking Trinket to flank her, and leapt to defend Keyleth’s back. There was a whirlwind of intensity all around. An intensity that would have been overwhelming, if her heart weren’t thundering in time, and her quick feet caught up the dance of it all.

Until she felt the magnetism of powerful magic moving closer.

She looked up. Saw Saundor walking out from the trees ahead. Her fists clenched tighter around her bow. Her jaw locked.

There was pure hatred on his face, screaming out the urge to destroy. He held his bow, just like she did, though his was far more impressive. She lifted her weapon, directed straight toward him. He returned the gesture.

Others noticed him too. Vax hurled a dagger. But Saundor lifted one bored hand, and twirled his fingers.

The edges of the trees blurred and flickered, like a bubble passing over them. The dagger halted in mid-air. Vex’s eyes darted sideways, not shifting her offensive stance, but taking in the changes.

All her friends were frozen, locked in a strange warped pocket of time. She remembered what Cassandra told her—time could be twisted in the Briarwood.

A swell of despair came over her first. Saundor shot one arrow, which she narrowly avoided, feeling its wind against her face. He laughed. Let loose another. This time, it sliced the bottom of her braid.

She knew his bow was superior to her own. She was alone in this now. So she had to be smart.

Or bold.

After all, Saundor knew she was smart. But he did underestimate her bravery. He thought her weak-willed and selfish and cautious. He thought her riddled with insecurity. He would be expecting self-preservation and restraint.

A swell of courage swallowed what came before. Vex dropped her bow. She kept her grip on her single, silver arrow. She sprinted straight toward him.

Sure enough, there was a second of utter shock in Saundor’s body. When he let loose his next arrow, he quivered just enough to send it off course. And then _he_ had to dodge. But Vex went low, aiming for his legs, and tackled him to the ground.

He dropped his weapon. His quiver, upended, scattered arrows over the ground.

Yet he was a skilled fighter. The element of surprise gone by, he regathered himself, and launched a kick toward her. Vex tried to hold on. She felt a snap in her fingers. Gasped.

Saundor shoved upward and spun her over, toppling her to the ground, pinning her down.

“How could you betray me?” he spat. “You said things you didn’t mean. You wore my ring. You could have had everything you ever wanted.”

“At what cost?” Vex growled back. “At accepting your Unseelie magic? At losing my ability to care about anyone else? To care about myself? My family?”

“If you truly loved me, none of that would matter anymore. The only cost was your heart.”

Vex felt certainty surge inside her. She found the centre of her magic, rooted in her very soul. She saw flashing images of the golden doe and silver stag, the rising sun, the faces of the people she loved. Percy.

“My heart is someone else’s,” she said.

With those words, a beam of brilliant gold light exploded from her chest. It blasted Saundor backward, wrenching his grip loose from her arms, his weight from her lungs. She scrambled to her feet as he hit the ground, spinning to find where her silver arrow had landed. But all she saw was the tangle of Saundor’s spilt quiver.

She heard the sound of the archfey groan and get to his feet. She glanced back.

His face was pure fury. His eyes consumed her hungrily, then traced the ground, until they landed on his bow. With a wicked grin, he stretched out a hand, and called with his magic.

Vex acted without thought or plan. She mirrored his movement. It was impossible. Fenthras belonged to Saundor and had spent years answering his call. He was an archfey. His power made the very ground around him tremble. The forest was an agent of his will. He would overpower her.

Yet the bow didn’t move.

His frown deepened. His mouth warped into a snarl, sharp teeth on display. Vex simply smiled in response. Felt her own canines catch her full lower lip.

“What are you doing?” he hissed.

A vein now stood out on his forehead. His heels dug into the soil beneath him. But Vex was grounded in the same soil. She felt it keeping her anchored. Through her blood rushed the voices of the Faerie Forest, the footsteps of the gentle silver stag, the courage of the golden doe.

She knew she would win one second before it happened.

“I am the Dawn Champion,” she said calmly. “Fenthras is a weapon with a twofold meaning: protection and growth. You foster neither of these things. I’m taking what’s mine.”

And with that, her magic spun the bow, and it shot through the air, drawn to the centre of her palm. The rough vines and bark fit to the crevices of her hand. Her fingers curled around it.

She glanced at the scattering of arrows at her feet, and suddenly, she spotted the flash of silver—the arrow Percy made for her.

As Saundor cried out in rage, she bent in one fluid movement, locked the arrow to her bow, pulled back, inhaled, and, finally, released.

When the arrow took Saundor through the heart, black, poisoned sap erupted from the wound.

…

One moment, Percy was sighting Saundor at the end of his crossbow. The next, he was frozen in time, watching the scene play out, helpless. But it all went well. When the spell shattered and released him from the traps of magic, the archfey was crumpled on the ground, and Vex was standing resplendent a good distance away, with his ancient bow in her grip.

“That was amazing!” Keyleth gasped.

“You saw?” Vex said.

For a moment, her eyes flickered to Percy, then quickly away.

“Yeah,” Keyleth said. “We were frozen, but—”

A yell rang out from the maze of brambles nearby.

“No time to discuss it,” Vex said. “Sorry, darling, we have to keep moving.”

She darted ahead into the thicket, and though the whole party exchanged baffled looks, they followed.

They fought other enemies as they went. By now, above the tangle of plant life, they could see the roof of Whitestone Castle. They were so close to the end. Percy’s chest squeezed. His grip tightened on his crossbow. He mentally counted his stock of silver bolts.

**_Close, my boy, so close._ **

Orthax’s voice rose, unbidden, in his mind. He shook his head clear it.

**_I will see you soon._ **

Percy felt a shiver up his spine. He glanced around, as though Orthax might appear at any moment.

“We’re almost there,” Vex said. “You ready, Percy?”

His eyes snapped forward.

“I’m ready,” he said.

And with one last push, they burst through to a patch of empty lawn before the grand doors to Whitestone Castle.

Anna Ripley stood on the front steps.

“Hello, Percival,” she said.

Vex shot an arrow in her direction without hesitating, but there were other faeries about, ones Percy hadn’t even noticed in his single-minded fury, and those quickly distracted her.

Percy aimed for Ripley instead. His first crossbow bolt hit the wall behind her. She raised an eyebrow, so casual, and touched it, wincing at the sting of iron and silver.

“Clever boy,” she murmured.

“You’re almost a faerie,” Percy said accusingly.

Ripley chuckled.

“How I wish you had been here too. You could be the same.”

“I don’t want to be,” Percy growled.

He stepped forward, dodging a dagger, and feeling Grog parry a blow at his back.

“Ah, your wasted potential,” Ripley sighed.

She kicked aside Vex’s arrow, which had fallen to the ground. She didn’t look afraid, but nor did she look like she was enjoying herself. She simply looked like a disappointed teacher standing before a student who had failed her.

“The connection with dark magic is deep without your soul,” she said. “I have chased such things for a long time, but in you, Percival, it is all _innate._ ”

He spat on the ground, reloaded, and attempted another shot.

This time, she raised her hand, and the bolt froze in mid-air. Percy made a note of that in the back of his mind. If she was using that much magic, he needed his runed arrows to take care of her. His hand flew to his other quiver.

“Join me,” Ripley said. “Your sister is here too. Together, we can take this castle for ourselves. We will be a new breed of powerful creature. We will chase deep and ancient knowledge and rule the middle ground between the humans and the fey.”

Percy fired. Ripley hissed as the bolt tore through the sleeve of her shirt.

“You aren’t surprised to hear Cassandra lives?” she asked. “You knew already?”

“I know more than you think.”

She looked hungry. “Indeed.”

Percy reloaded again, but he had to dodge an oncoming attack from the side. A pixie, sharp teeth on display, dove straight for his hand. Vex slashed through it with a dagger, momentarily making eye contact with him.

“You okay?” she asked.

“I’m fine.”

“It is Sylas and Delilah you hate!” Ripley shouted, trying to get his attention. “I do, too. They asked me to defend the door, as though I am only a distraction. They know not the power I have accrued. Together, we can both defeat them. Your most hated enemies, Percival. They’re right inside.”

The first hints of smoke began to rise from Percy. He took another step closer.

“I’ll deal with you first.”

“Pelor, Percival, listen to me!” Ripley shouted. “We’re on the same side!”

And with that flash of frustration, Percy saw it. Smoke. Pouring from her, pooling on the ground at her feet. The moment his eyes alighted on the sight, he saw a different movement in his peripheral vision.

Orthax stepped out of the trees and stalked toward them. His body was more solid than ever, dark black, beaked, and tall. He walked as though his form had structure, feet interacting with the ground, leaving prints.

“ ** _You see, Percival,”_** Orthax said, mouth moving with his words for the first time. **_“Both of you seek revenge.”_**

“I told you,” Ripley said. “Same side.”

She stood taller, prouder. When she looked at Orthax, she seemed, for the first time, less like an accomplished doctor, and more like a child looking for approval, thirsting after true acclaim.

Scanlan raced toward Orthax with an almighty yell. He waved a hand. Time twisted and froze. He grinned.

**_“My powers... grow… I am almost a true archfey again.”_ **

“We will make it so,” Ripley promised. “Come, Percival, make it so.”

She extended a hand.

Percy looked her in the eye, full of mistrust. He turned and saw all his friends and their opponents, frozen half-way through battle. He felt a surge of affection. For the first time, he wondered if that emotion could be powerful enough to overcome everything else.

 ** _Percival,_** Orthax spoke in his head again, non-verbal. **_You are still my favoured one. Join her now, defeat the greater evil. Your revenge will be complete._**

Percy looked at him. He tried to keep his expression blank.

**_All who have let you down will still fall. It was our deal. Take Ripley’s offer and use her as an ally. Use anyone you might need. Ripley, Cassandra, these friends. Later, you can dispose of them all._ **

The thought chilled Percy all the way through. He glanced down at his hands. Smoke swirled around his wrists, where they held the crossbow.

He looked at Ripley. Saw the distance in her expression. And suddenly, suspicion blossomed in his chest. He wondered what she was hearing. Did Orthax also call her his favoured one, in the privacy of her mind? Who was he really manipulating?

“You made a deal with Orthax too?” he asked Ripley. “To target Sylas and Delilah?”

“Yes,” she said greedily. “Orthax used to be the royal archfey of the Briarwood. He fell from grace, and they took his place, but he is remaking himself.”

Orthax strode up the stairs toward Ripley, still smiling. The smoke around her billowed out to meet him. He stood at her right shoulder. She trembled.

“Join us, Percival,” she said.

**_“Yes, Percival, take your revenge.”_ **

“You made a deal with both of us,” Percy repeated.

He saw Orthax’s shadow eyes narrow.

 ** _Percival,_** the voice called in his mind, **_You are my priority. Trust me._**

But Percy was hardly listening. He was looking at Ripley, like looking in a mirror, and he was embarrassed. He saw all the worst parts of himself. He saw the hunger for knowledge bred from insecurity. He saw the toxic deal made with a fey creature who could never really be trusted. He saw the eagerness to betray anything if it would get her what she wanted.

And he realised she wasn’t his priority. He’d been fixated on her because of her involvement in the worst night of his life. But worse evils had risen since then.

She deserved punishment, of course, but perhaps he didn’t want to give it. It would feel hypocritical. Perhaps he should save it for an impartial judge. Perhaps…

 ** _Fine, Percival,_** Orthax whispered, **_take her out now, if you don’t trust me. Shoot her. I will hold her here. We don’t need her for the next part. She has set things up well enough already._**

Percy lifted his crossbow, with a bolt of iron and silver in place, carved deep with the appropriate runes. 

And he let it loose.

It didn’t fly to Ripley’s chest, though he had that opportunity, with her kept in place by her supposed ally. Instead, he aimed just slightly to the left. And the bolt, charged up with all the secrets given to him through his fey pact, struck Orthax directly in the chest.

For a moment, the world was still. Orthax looked Percy in the eyes, astounded.

Then a great burning hole opened in his centre and he keeled over backward, body letting off a stream of smoke, until only charred bone and ruined smudges of charcoal black remained against the steps.

“I forgive you,” Percy said to Ripley.

She lifted her own crossbow and shot him right in the stomach.

…

Vex saw Percy fall in the same instant that Orthax’s power evaporated and they were freed from his spell.

She screamed his name, voice clanging out with Keyleth’s.

They turned into a hurricane of rage and grief. All the friends Percy had made were fuelled by the sight of his body hitting the ground, helpless and light with the banished weight of his anguish.

Supporting forces were now emerging from the maze of greenery around the castle, joining in the battle, and the main party was able to push forward, up the steps.

Vex shot arrow after arrow directly at Ripley, blinking back tears that blurred her vision and muddled her aim. Some of her attacks were blocked or avoided. But others struck. Her arm, her shoulder, her upper thigh, her stomach, her heart, and finally, through her mouth, as she screamed. When Vex stopped, chest heaving with the depth of her anger, she didn’t feel any better. Percy was still lying, unmoving.

Pike had bent over him. She was binding his wound to hold back the flow of blood. Then she said something softly to Grog, nodding her head.

Grog lifted the body. He carried it up the stairs. Percy’s chest was still rising and falling, but the movement was stilted and unsteady. The fletching of the crossbow bolt stuck up toward the sky.

The others followed behind. Their army was dealing with the fey out front. Ahead, the rest of the castle waited.

“What do we do?” Keyleth asked. She was crying.

“He probably won’t last,” Pike said. “Not long enough to get him back to the village for treatment. Not with the arrow in him and the blood he’s lost.”

“Then we keep going,” Vex said. “We finish this. For him.”

“We finish this,” Vax echoed.

And on they went.

They burst through the main doors of the castle, a storm of justice. Faeries fell. Creatures fled. They slammed against the main door to the castle hall, where they guessed the royal archfey would be waiting, and it soon gave way.

Sure enough, Sylas and Delilah were sitting on thrones choked out by briars and brambles. Around them gathered their closest allies. Cassandra stood at their backs. Her hair was tied with a single red ribbon. She looked ill with fear and indecision.

Her eyes landed on Percy.

Her jaw dropped.

Vex still stood at the door, her allies around her, aware that another fight was about to begin. Yet she couldn’t take her eyes off Cassandra. The young girl stood on the precipice of her life’s biggest choice. It was the moment that truly mattered. The test of her loyalty.

Cassandra stepped forward on shaky legs.

“Percy?” she whispered.

“Cassandra,” said Delilah. “Don’t let them distract you.”

Cassandra flinched.

“Ripley killed him,” Vex said in a choked voice. “At _their_ request.”

“Cassandra, don’t be foolish,” Sylas said.

“Stand back,” Delilah added.

Cassandra looked at them. Looked at Vex. There was an arrow resting on Vex’s finger, notched in her bow.

“Yes, darling,” Vex said. “Stand back.”

Cassandra’s eyes traced the weapon. She seemed to recognise Fenthras, for there was a glimmer of hope in the midst of that overcast de Rolo blue.

She took one step backward, not toward her place behind the thrones, but to the side, away, leaving the path to the royal archfey uncluttered and free. And in one single, swift movement, faster and more precise than any she had ever made in her life, Vex lifted the bow, tensed and shot.

Her arrow flew through the air in a perfect arch.

It slammed directly into the space between Sylas’s breastbone. With a look of astonishment on his face, her watched the explosion of runic magic ripple over his skin, the sting of twin fey metals burning the wound, and he slumped over. Dead.

Delilah screamed.

The other faeries launched the offensive immediately. Delilah shot a ream of fire toward Vex, who barely managed to roll out of the way in time. All her attention was locked on the person who just killed her husband. But Vex was flooded by grief of her own—determination boiling high in her heart.

She reached for her magic again and managed to return the next spell sent her way. Delilah dodged, and her throne splintered into a thousand tiny pieces. Vex huffed. Blew hair out of her eyes.

She could see Cassandra standing in the background of the fight, fists clenched. There was a look on her face that Vex recognised. An expression torn between loyalty and the hope of freedom. Between grief for something lost and the possibility of something new.

Cassandra took a deep breath, reached to her side.

There was a sword sheathed there—a decorated blade with a name carved into its hilt, just readable to Vex with her sharp fey senses— _Johanna de Klossowski_. It must have belonged to her mother.

As Delilah shifted stance in front of her, ready to make a fresh attack on Vex, Cassandra stepped forward, with an almighty yell, and attacked the woman who had been manipulating her for so long, tying her down with guilt and magic.

When it mattered, Cassandra made her choice.

And she chose freedom.

…

Once Delilah and Sylas were dead, it wasn’t hard to defeat the rest of the Briarwood. Some of the fey battled to the death, while others fled. But Vex hardly noticed the castle clearing out. She was distracted by thoughts of Percy.

She ran to Grog’s side. He had put the body down during the fight, but scooped him up again now. Shattered inhales still tore through Percy’s chest, but they grew increasingly weak and shallow.

They carried him back outside as quickly as they could.

The forest was a strange place now, filled with celebrating humans and Seelie creatures, stomping around the grounds to weed out stragglers. There were villagers speaking shyly with fey, and fey sharing admiring compliments for their hard work in battle.

Vex could hardly appreciate it.

Now that their objectives had been achieved, she couldn’t stop crying. She stumbled on trees roots, eyes fixed on Percy, until Trinket came up to her side, tucked under one hand, so he could guide her steps.

They laid Percy out in front of the Church of the Dawn. There weren’t many people around. They had heard of the fight in the forest, and some were heading that way, while other gathered in the square to hear the tales of the returning victors.

Pike checked Percy’s wounds again. She said, once more, that nothing could really be done. She painstakingly removed the arrow, careful not to tear at his flesh. She bound him up again in proper bandages from her rooms.

Cassandra was with them. Her face was white as she stared at her brother. Keyleth was weeping on his other side. Vex wiped furiously at her own tears.

“What do we do?” she said.

“Do we… pray?” Scanlan asked.

Pike sniffed.

“I suppose that’s all we can do now.”

“There’s magic in that,” Gilmore said.

Pike ducked her head, took a deep breath, and opened them in prayer.

A few people said words. Keyleth, despite her lack of faith in the gods, confessed that he was her best friend. Vex was crying in earnest by now. When her turn came, she bent low over Percy’s chest to say what she needed. She realised she could no longer hear him breathing.

“Pelor,” she said. “I-I’ve prayed to you before, but I never really knew if it was my place to do so. Today—shit, has so little time passed?—today, I was named as the Dawn Champion. I know you are a god for humans, you and Sarenrae, and my title is of the fey, but I can’t help feeling it might be connected to you. To what you represent. I hope you might lend some of your hope to me. Hope of a new dawn.”

She breathed in. Out.

“Percy,” she said. “Until you died, this was one of the best days of my life. Not-not because of my new position. But because of the title _you_ gave me. Because it reminded me that I _can_ have a place in Whitestone. I _can_ be anchored to the human world. I can be brave enough to forge new paths for myself.

“But I don’t want to be here if you’re not. Whitestone still needs you, darling. I still need you here.”

She felt it. The warmth of a dawn sky opening deep inside her, against all the darkness and sadness of the night. She felt magic blossom like flowers across her palms, her fingertips, her face.

She recalled telling Saundor that her heart belonged to another. The freedom of that realisation. The fact that Percy had been listening, even bound up in frozen time.

“I should have told you,” she whispered. “It’s yours.”

And she pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, right where it creased whenever he was feeling stressed. As she pulled away, she saw a faint glow of golden light, sinking into the space where her lips had been.

Percy gasped.

His eyes flew open. Blue on brown. Staring into her open heart.

Around them, their friends yelped and choked in amazement. They said his name. They stared.

“That was magical,” Percy said.

And, for the first time, there was no bitterness in his voice, saying that word. There was only hope. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just the epilogue to go now! please let me know what you think of this end


	8. epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here comes the end... thank you for all your support!

**Epilogue | Two weeks later, waning crescent, early evening.**

Vex watched them—Percy and Trinket—walking the wall of the castle. Percy was propped up against the expanse of brown fur, hand fisted above the shoulder blade, to keep himself upright. Yet he looked happy. There was a curious kind of relief on his face as he inspected the stones in front of him.

Trinket kept glancing sideways. He placed his big paws carefully, so as not to jostle his charge.

“What do you think?” Percy asked quietly, in that strange, polite voice he always used with the bear. “Worth asking Cassandra about this part.”

Trinket let out a regal little snuffle.

“Yes, I think so,” Percy agreed.

Vex grinned. She propped her shoulder against a tree, leaning her cheek on the bark for a moment. Getting a chance to rest was rare these days. Everyone had been so busy she’d barely had a moment alone. Not even with Vax. Not even with Percy.

It had been almost a fortnight since they took back Whitestone Castle. The Unseelie fey had retreated. They left their plants behind to clutter and choke the old building, but there was no longer any magical intent in the twisted branches.

For days, the Briarwood had been completely silent.

But at half moon, the Elders had called a meeting between royals of all three courts. The representatives of Frost and Syngorn held their tongues about the supposed corruption of the Council, but they explained why they took back the castle. They cited the greed of the Briarwood and the rightful historical foothold of the human families who ruled from their ancestral seat.

Though the laws of conquest made their argument uncertain, one final barb cemented their cause. Cassandra de Rolo had been declared the heir to Sylas and Delilah’s estate; she could rule the place according to all expectations, both human and fey.

Of course, the youngest living de Rolo could never return to human life. She had crossed a line which could never be recrossed. But she was now poised to lead the very first community that bridged the two worlds. It would be a castle for fey and for humans. She was inviting others to live around her and help establish a new normal.

It would be a lot of responsibility. Percy was trying to help her shoulder some of the burden, though he seemed as stressed as she was, and he was still recovering from his near-death experience. Even walking around took a lot of strength out of him.

He laid a hand against the side of the castle, catching his breath. Trinket waited.

Over the tree-tops, the sound of a cheerful whistle travelled through the valley. They heard someone else pick it up in the distance and Vex quickly replied on their side.

“That’s the signal,” she said to Percy. “Are you ready?”

He looked up, and with the sun on his glasses, she couldn’t read his expression.

“I’m ready,” he said softly.

Her boys walked up to her, slow plod of bear paws and scuffed leather boots.

“You sure you want to do this?” Vex said.

“I made you all wait until I could walk out here,” he said. “I’d be a fool to back out now.”

“Ah, darling, you’re never a fool,” she said. Then hesitated. “Or you’re always a fool. I forget…”

Percy laughed. He stepped right up beside her, and she could see his face, with all its hope and happiness. Life still wasn’t easy, but the pale blue of his eyes looked more settled now; a windy, storm-tossed sky had become a slow easing of day to dusk.

“Can you feel the magic?” Vex asked.

Magic was strong in her, easily detectable, ever since she united the doe and stag. Using it had stopped feeling like work and started feeling like breathing.

She was certainly more powerful than Percy. Yet the faeries had said he had a predisposition for magic, all due to the particular clever workings of his mind, so she was curious to hear if he could sense the flow as she did.

“A little,” he said, brow furrowing in concentration. “Does that mean the others have started?”

“Almost.”

She reached her hand toward him.

“Still want me to guide you?”

“I wouldn’t have asked insincerely,” he said.

He slid his fingers between hers, entwined. Together, they looked out at the castle, and the briars strangling each wall, flooding the grounds. Vex took a deep breath, up from the soles of her feet, and felt the sparks of magic lighting from the friends who were helping them, spaced throughout the valley.

“Here we go, darling,” she murmured.

And it began. As they stepped forward, lifting their bound hands, the vines and branches pulled back before them, commanded to retreat.

She heard Percy suck in a breath. His cheeks were flushed. His white hair was tossed in the wind, looking like silver beneath the open sky. He smiled, ever-so-slightly-at the sight of the cleansing before him. With every pace forward, the plants were repelled, and they stretched their arms wide together, as though peeling back a layer over the castle, shedding a skin.

They kept going, one foot in front of the other, tangle of briars under their power, until, at last, the thorns and vines vanished into the thick of the forest, returned to their previous home.

Percy exhaled.

He turned back to survey the castle. Some plants still remained—the old garden now overgrown and untended. Somehow, the flowers planted by faithful de Rolo gardeners had survived underneath the oppressive weeds. Somehow, the cherry tree still hung deep with fruit, unharvested.

“How does it feel?” Vex asked gently. “Using magic.”

Percy turned toward her. His cheeks glistened with tears.

“It feels like forgiveness,” he said. “It feels like healing.”

Vex nodded, her own eyes welling up with emotion. She still wasn’t sure if Percy had heard her confession after he died. She wasn’t sure if he knew how she felt. Yet her heart was thudding. Tension seemed to tug between their chests.

“Does that mean you’re forgiving yourself?” she asked.

“I think so,” he said. “Though it’s hard to think. Your eyes are like gold.”

Vex ducked her head, smiling.

“And are you healing?” she said.

“I’m starting to.”

Percy leaned in. His was so close, she had to tip her chin up to look at him. He placed a hand against her cheek, velvet-soft and reverent. Her stare creased with a tender smile, holding just the smallest tremble of vulnerability. And he touched his lips to hers in a kiss full of intention, trust, and love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... the end
> 
> let me know if you enjoyed this story! thanks for coming for the ride!


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